Music's Call
by Tintenweberin
Summary: Basically Scaramouche's POV of We Will Rock You. Thoughts in between the songs, my take on what she would feel like. What I would feel like if I were to play her. I know, been there, done that - but please, give it a try, will you? Swearing. A lot. So: T.
1. 1: Graduation Day

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the style of writing. _That_ one is uniquely _mine_.

**We Will Rock You**

GRADUATION DAY

Finally. Finally I would be able to leave these hated pastel hallways.

I mean, I couldn't leave the pastel behind, of course – dark colors seemed to be non-existent on Planet Mall until you really, _really_ went through a lot of trouble to look for them (or you belonged to the Executives and so forth of Globalsoft. They always wore dark.) It was as if Globalsoft thought them to be too agitating for the good of the Kids. Well, the bloody pastels agitated me, all right.

When I first started to really get sick of it as a kid I had hacked into old databanks and found out that Hazel bark would dye things a nice, soothing black. I tried it on an old sheet, it worked, I made a dress and got in trouble. But it was worth it. I found other ways to dye my clothes, or my sheets, since most of the clothes being sold were made of some kind of plastic or another and were impossible either to wear or dye. Blast it. Well, at least my makeshift clothes – at least to me I have to admit that I am not the best seamstress there is – cover my body up somewhat decently.

I mean, seriously, why do people make such a fuss over me wearing a black, saggy dress and army boots? Someone threw them away, and _I_ like them. They are black, they are solid and they have a steel cap to protect the toes. Helpful as hell when you have a whole army of plastic dolls on pointy high-heeled sandals that hate you. After the first ten or so broke their heels on the cap of my boots and went crying to the headmistress (earning _me_ detention – who was the bitch that tried to break my toes again?) I was denounced trouble and they at least lay off the physical injure. Which could also have to do with the fact that they feared I would… advance on them. Like hell I would!

And the fact that I dyed my hair purple? Well, I was seen as a troublemaker for my natural dark brown anyway, and so I dyed it. I even used legal dye. Just because I did not bleach my hair first so that the color would look sickly cheerful and bright… I liked the drab, dark color far better. And the detention only gave me opportunity to learn some more about hacking and technical stuff. Probably the reason I got into so much trouble: I was smart. I thought about things. I was discontent and so I tried to rebel. I never fit in, anyway, so what the heck was wrong with stopping to try?

Not that that helped me find friends, of course. More like a whole bunch of enemies. But I was tough. I _became_ tough. Snarky, sarcastic, bitter, but tough.

And finally free to do mostly what I please.

The graduation Ceremony was a torture. Everybody danced and sang the Globalsoft Hymn in the end. I hid away – Heaven help me, I was not going to go through with _that_ torture on my last day of school – and heard a boy argue with the grade tutor. Naturally I did not know him – Graduation was the first time Gaga-girls and Boy Zone met officially, and I had no desire to get to know the male version of the girls I met so far. I didn't understand much, except that the boy had a really bad stutter, until the teacher raised her voice at the end. "We live in a perfect world! What more could you possibly want?" I had a few choice words to say to _that_ statement.

The boy to, it seemed. So he was different, then. I was stunned when I suddenly heard him – sing.

Not one of the chorus thingies every kid learns. Not the carefully androgynous lines Globalsoft creates.

It was rough and new, and the first words got stuck in my head immediately. "I want to break free!" I listened to the first verse, spellbound by the slightly rough baritone, then I decided that I _had_ to see what the singer looked like. I stuck out my head from my hiding place, got a glimpse of ripped jeans, a black leather jacket and jet-black hair.

That was when my head sticking out gave me away, I was found and dragged to the headmistress one final time. Oh, she told me all the lies she always did – Globalsoft wanted what was best for me (for _them_, more like), life would be a breeze if only I didn't insist on making it so hard on myself (like _I_ was the one making it hard), if only I opened up a little I would find heaps and heaps of friends (more like if I stopped being _myself_) and so on and so forth. By the end of her sermon my good mood from being free from school and hearing that boy sing was gone again. I walked down the steps of the school entrance, pissed like hell, and the words from the song dropped into my head – "I want to break free! I want to break free!" I ripped my (black) bag from my shoulder, threw it on the ground, wanting to destroy _something_. "I want to break free from your _lies_, you're so self-satisfied, I _don't need you_." I was alone, so I made hitting movements, angrily imagining the headmistress, the teachers, the Gaga-Girls. "I got to break _free_!" I needed substance to take out my wrath on, so I kicked my bag up the stairs. Thank god for the steel caps or I that would have really hurt. The stuff inside was not easily breakable. Mostly. But kicking – and to my surprise, _singing_ – helped me calm down. The last part came almost softly, pleadingly. "God knows – God _knows_ I want to break free!" I felt content for a while – until I heard the catcall from behind my back.

Bloody perfect.

The It-Girls. My Arch-Nemesis.

And, to make it worse, not even wearing their more-or-less neutral white and golden graduation clothes anymore but clad once again in their plastic pastel clothes – if you could call them that, scanty as they were (well, I admit it gets hot in summer – but with the plastic clothes even that _little_ in size they would sweat like pigs. Disgusting!). They burned my eyes, and their words stung. They always did.

Catcall definitely was the wrong way to call that sound. It was the hyena matriarch calling the pack to hunt.

"Check out the weirdo, girls!" Like I haven't heard _that_ one before. Unoriginal much?

"Don't your Mom download you anything _decent_ to wear?"

The last thing the clothes of the Hyenas were would be _decent_, so what the hell? "I make _my own_ fashion statements!" Contrary to them.

Like they cared.

"What's today's statement then?" Violet Gaga asked – I never bothered with their names, besides, they all seemed to have a color assigned to them so differentiating them in that little group was pretty easy. Well, not pretty, but what the heck. Violet went on " 'Hello, I'm a pathetic ugly little zero'?"

"How will you _ever_", Turquoise chimed in before I could answer "get one of the boys from the Boy Zone dressed like some sort of freak?" The implication in that statement left me speechless long enough for greenie to throw a "you little freak!" in and Little Miss Sunshine-yellow to add, decidedly: "You're a _disgrace_ to the Gaga-Girls!"

What the bloody _hell_? _That_ made me able to speak rather quickly.

"Well, I _ain't_ no _Gaga-Girl_!" The thought! The _Horror!_ They gasped, and I, somewhat appeased by horrifying _them_, took one more step to burst their pink little bubble. "And I'm not _interested_ in the kind of 'boys-'r'-us' duh-brain Zone Clones _you_ hang out with!"

That singing guy was a whole different story, though…

Piggy-pink, after recovering from the first shock, bowed down low, meaning to threaten. (Would have worked better without her cleavage nearly falling out…) "_You_ are such a _sad_ loner!" she sneered. I mocked her, imitating her tone of voice. "Well, _you_ sure are right about _that._" She looked surprised. I sneered. "_Bitch!"_

Another shocked gasp – and I needed an outlet.

I remembered something – I had read a text, once, hacking into high security sites, on a scan of an old book. Fragments, only, before the website and my computer shut down, and I had to get rid of the evidence – namely my laptop, announcing it stolen – but I had a very good memory and a lot of time on my hands, so I kind of made it into something of mine. The melody came unbidden now.

And I heeded music's call.

"Can anybody find me? Somebody to… love…"

I heard the snigger of the Gaga-Girls behind me, but it seemed far away now, like the memory of a bad dream. I drifted away on the words, lost in my own voice.

"Each morning I wake up I die a little. Can barely stand on my feet!" It got harder every day to get up and face the pastels. Really, it did.

"Take a look in the mirror and cry: Lord, what you're doing to me? I spent all my years in believing you," I really did – Kids nowadays believed KillerQueen and Globalsoft the entities that ruled, but I always hoped that there was something – more.

"But I just can't get no relief!" Nope. Always someone there to drag me down.

"Lord! Somebody! Somebody – can anybody find me?" Well, the Gaga-Girls had, the teachers, on occasion the Police, but I didn't mean them.

"Somebody to love…"

The Gaga-Girls taunted in the background, using my own words against me, but it was blurry, like they were underwater. The empty place in front of the school turned into a place just for me, like I was one of those stars Globalsoft produced by the sackful – only more open, more personal. More _real_. I smiled. It felt so _good_! And the idea of somebody liking – _loving_ me… it was thrilling. I continued letting everything just – flow.

"I work hard – everyday of my life! I work till I ache to my bones!" Staying yourself needs high maintenance. Plus the dyeing whenever the Parents found my stack of black sheets, the sewing – luckily they never found my boots when I was sleeping. It would have been hell to find and break in another pair…

"At the end I take home my broken heart all on my own!" Well, I just _had_ to keep hoping, didn't I? I sank to my knees – half in exasperation at that situation, half because the next line spoke of it. "I go down on my knees and I start to pray" I lifted my hands to the heavens, looking up until the bright light hurt my eyes, "Till the tears run down from my eyes – Lord! Somebody! Somebody! Can anybody find me? Somebody to love! Yeah Yaya Yayaya! Every day!" I hit the floor with my fists, angrily, and felt the Gagas, who had so far stayed on the steps draw nearer. That got me up again, while I continued to sing, thinking all the while how fitting it was that they would be coming down _now_ of all times. "I try, and I try, and I _try_!" They stood around me now, in a semi-circle, and I turned on them. "But _everybody_ wants to put me down! They say I'm going crazy!" For once I didn't care about the judgmental, slightly frightened expression in their eyes, I went around scaring them. Singing in their faces everything they accused me of. "They say I got a lot of water on my brain" At least _I_ did not run around with a liter of soft-drink all the time "I got no common sense!" Well, I had more sense in one little nail than all of the Gaga-Girls put together, so there you go, "I got nobody left to believe in!"

Well, that I didn't.

I faced away from them again, singing with all my might "HEY!" while they sang out a triumphant "Yeah, yeah!", thinking they had finally beaten me, closing in. I turned, taking one step towards them – and they ran back up the stairs.

Rightly so. This was _my_ space. I was alone again.

"Got no feel – I got no rhythm. I just keep losing my beat!" Another one of the reasons I never fit in. I was never able to learn the dance routines every kid learned. I always fell out of step. Always caught on the wrong foot.

So what?

"I'm okay! I'm alright! No, I ain't gonna face no defeat!" Like hell I would! "I just got to get out of this prison cell" Perfect world? Hah! Golden – well, pastel – Cage more like! "One day I'm gonna be free! LORD!"

I opened my arms wide, free, and held the note.

Long.

Even longer.

Until I ran out of breath. I never knew how good it felt to just let go and _sing_. Without constraints. I sang a bit, continuous repeating of "find me" and long coloratura "Oh's". What fun! I sang out the last line of the refrain again, going into heights of voice I never imagined myself capable of. I felt the jealous eyes of the Gaga-Girls on my back, but I did _so_ not care! I poured my everything into the last notes.

Shot a final, exhilarated smile into the now very annoyed faces of the hyenas and ran, leaving behind the school, the Gagas, everything.

Only when I reached a dark alley – the afternoon had turned into late evening during my singing and running – did I realize that I left behind my black bag with my few precious possessions – the stuff I normally never let go of. My laptop with which I hacked into every website that took my fancy or the few mechanical gizmos I had fiddled with. I am pretty good at technical and mechanical stuff, if I do say so myself. Angrily, I stomped my foot – who knows what the Gaga-Girls _did_ to my stuff after I had defied them as harshly as I had – when an oily, unpleasant and very stuck-up voice clearly sarcastically pronounced: "How very _touching_, young lady."

Shit.

Who – I turned around and saw the infamous Commander Kashoggi standing before me, flanked by two policemen. He continued to taunt me. "But surely you understand that the _Company_ loves you?" If it did, why was he here? Like I was going to buy _that_ bollocks. Sure enough, he ordered his men to arrest me, turned on his heels and walked away. I screamed "Globalsoft equals fascism!" after him at the top of my lungs – which was, as I found out, pretty loud – as I was dragged into the other direction to a Van, struggling all the time until one of the policemen had enough and pressed a damp, strangely sweet-smelling cloth over my face.

My last thoughts as the world disappeared was that at least it faded to _black_.


	2. 2: Meeting Gazza

Disclaimer: Still own nothing but the style (Geez, do I have to mention this _every_ chapter? Is once at the beginning of the story not enough?)

MEETING GAZZA

Whatever the police uses to put people to sleep – it's effective as hell. And it doesn't even leave behind a headache.

Much.

The back of my head stung, but that was it. I felt people around me, but heard them leaving as I pretended to still be out of it.

Then I opened my eyes, lifted my head, sat up a little, took in the unfamiliar hospital-like room around me – and finally ended up meeting a pair of startled green eyes.

Dark green.

The boy they belonged to looked as surprised as I was. The thought 'who the hell has been so bloody brilliant and put me in a _boy's_ room?' touched my mind as he gave a frightened yelp and stammered: "Hey, G-g-g-g-g-g-gaga-Girl! Who are you?"

Geez. Blind much?

"I ain't no G-g-g-g-g-g-gaga-Girl! And I don't answer questions." Attack is the best defense, after all. "Who are you?" I demanded.

Taken down a peg – and calmer now – he started introducing himself. Went well enough. The first "Well, I'm…" sounded decent enough – and then he blew it. Looking slightly confused, he finished "I-I-I don't know _who_ I am!"

"Oh, right…" Stammering and memory loss…

The confusion went away as fast as it had come, and he continued with a confident air: "Well, but my name is Galileo Figaro!"

Ga – what?

And why does he know his _name_ but not _who_ he is? Isn't that what a name is for? Loony. But he was there, and he was someone new, and maybe he was different. So I turned to him and drew up my legs, hugging them loosely to me. Trying to make - conversation

"That's a cool name!" The sarcasm in my voice could have cut down trees. _He_ went unfazed by it. Completely oblivious.

He thanked me with a very cheery smile, his mood immediately brightening.

"I wasn't being _serious_!" Memo to myself: this guy doesn't get my humor. Or what's left of it, anyway. I really wanted to talk to him, though, but there was no way in hell I was going to remember _that_ name. "Mind if I shorten it?"

He looked a little taken aback – really, does this guy wear his every thought on his sleeve? – but slowly, hesitatingly he answered "Well, I guess Galileo would…" I wasn't even going to _think_ about calling him _that_, so I just stopped him halfway, taking "I guess" as all the invite I needed.

"Sooo, Gazza." I made myself comfortable on the stretcher. The perplex look grew stronger on his face. God, he looked like a kicked puppy… "Tell me. Why were _you_ arrested?" He looked harmless enough, but better safe than sorry, right?

His kicked-puppy-look dropped as fast as it had appeared. Now he looked eager. I guess he would have wagged his tail if he had one… He leaned forward, and I drew myself up again, still cautious. Especially as he proceeded to explain that he heard sounds in his head. "Words _and_ sounds!" Boy, this guy could squeak! His excitement dropped a bit and he matter-of-factly, although a bit dejected, stated "Well, I-I-I'm mad, you see."

Well so far I liked his way of mad, and he seemed nice enough. But he telling me why he was here reminded me that _I_ was there, too, in the same situation, and it got me a bit mad, myself. Plus, I asked _him__him_ why he had been arrested, so it was only fair if I told him my reason, right? While protesting, of course.

"_I_ was arrested because they don't like the _WAY I DRESS!_" The last words I screamed in direction of the door, being sure that there was _someone_ out there who heard me. Wanker.

Gazza first looked stunned at my outburst and then at my clothes, like he only registered them now. Then, with a nervous, bashful smile, he said: "I think you dress beautifully!"

Okay.

First: never had _anybody_ told me something like that.

Second: his hopeful, friendly smile is absolutely adorable (Geez, did I really think that? _So_ not like me…).

For a moment I actually let myself feel flattered. "Nice…" His smile grew.

But then came Third: Beautiful is the last word that could possibly describe _anything_ about me.

Fourth: I _knew_ my sewing sucks.

And Fifth: He is _mad_, girl. Said so himself, remember? Don't wish, don't start…

And so, becoming myself again, I beat the feeling down.

"'Cept – coming from a self-confessed _nutter_ – NOT!"

And him, it seems. Because the kicked-puppy-face was back in action. I looked for a topic – anything to erase that look (and to lead away from the topic of _me_) – and remembered his eagerness at talking about the sounds in his head. Well, that one was as good as any other.

Plus, I was mildly curious, anyway.

"What sounds do you hear?"

Getting rid of the kicked puppy? Success.

Getting any information? Not so much.

While frantically scanning the room with his eyes he answered with the sentence I now was so used to hear from him. "I-I don't know."

How utterly annoying. I was _trying_ here? Like, really hard? People just don't appreciate effort anymore…

Slowly, like talking to a child (well he _reminded_ me of one, anyway, what with his constant nervous nose-wiping and innocent eyes) I asked "Do you know _a-ny-thing_?"

He actually furrowed his brow at that. "W-Well, yes, I…"

Thinking.

And then, proudly: "I know that I am _different_!"

Well, _hello_, Captain Obvious!

But then he slumped down again and continued in a voice that was both dejected and disdainful: "Which is why the boys from the Boy Zone hate me!"

I should have known that the only place I would find someone like me was in some sort of hell-hole like this. It made me forgive and forget almost everything else. I inched nearer, opening up, and cheerily told him that the Gaga-Girls hate _me_!

For some _very_ strange reason, that made him perk up. "Do you know _why_ they hate you?"

Okay, that was plain rude. And easy to answer.

"Yeah, they think I'm a lesbian because I don't wear pastels." Never understood what _that_ had to do with being lesbian, but then again, when did _Gaga-Girls_ of all people ever make _sense_? I even doubt they know what the word _means_.

Gazza looked as if he had never heard anything quite so stupid. "They hate you because they're _scared_ of you!"

Well, there was that, too.

He continued, clearly struggling for a good way to explain. "Because… you're… _different_!" Obviously. "You're – well – a-a-a-an _individual_!"

"Yeah." I looked away, uncomfortable. God, this guy was so cute. Far too cute. He knew me like what, fifteen minutes? And he already grew on me. But the conversation took a wrong turn again. It got too near on the topic of talking about me.

Again.

Far too near for comfort Calm, girl… change the topic. Something… I reached up to fiddle with my hair and felt the soft fabric of the bandage around my head that I had ignored so far. There had been more pressing matters. Finding out if he was dangerous, and then I simply… forgot while talking to him… But now the fact that we both had bandaged heads caused me to worry again.

"What you think they did to us?"

He resumed his nervous scanning of the room while answering "I don't know." And for once I couldn't blame him for that. I didn't, either. And that frightened me. "Do you think they'll ever give up? And just leave us _alone_?" How strange that I talked of "us" already. But it somehow seemed _normal_ to be with him.

In a good way.

Natural.

Gazza looked at me a bit puzzled. "Don't you _see_?" See what, exactly? "We're a threat!"

I didn't understand how I could be a threat. All I did was not be like everyone else. (And hacking into websites… and tampering with little gizmos I 'found' here and there…) The boy saw ma puzzled look and tried a different approach, eager again.

"A-a Virus. On their Hard-Drive." Oh, now he was talking computers. I got those. "And they won't give up until they pointed their little arrow at us –"

I got his drift. What did you do with a virus? Right – "and dragged us to 'trash'!"

I looked up, only now realizing how near we were to each other. Looked up into innocent, forest green eyes that held a sort of realization, and felt something bubble up inside my chest, something unknown and strange, some sort of –

"Pressure!"

My god, I was singing again. _WE_ were singing!

"Pressing down on me! Pressing down on you! No man ask for…"

Where did these words come from? _Why_ did Gazza sing the same thing as me? Or was it the other way around?

"Under Pressure!" I didn't care. I was singing again, and the words fit the situation, getting rid of a lot of anxiousness. It felt good to not keep in my feelings. I looked around as Gazza sang alone "Which puts a building down – splits families in two…" Getting his drift I chimed in: "Puts people on streets!"

Looking around for a way to get out, I just let the melody flow, without words, slightly startled as Gazza did the same thing. I chanced a quick look at him. He looked down, distressed – maybe his mentioning of split up families hadn't been coincidental – and without thinking I reached across the small gap between our stretchers to lightly touch his hand. "That's okay!"

He looked at me, surprised, and I self-consciously drew my hand back, fiddling with my hair. An almost heartbroken look crossed his face as he explained to me – still singing, and leaning over – "It's the terror of knowing what this world is about!"

I knew that feeling all too well.

So I added "It's watching some good friends screaming" he caught on "Let me out!"

A hopeful smile played around his lips despite the situation as he continued "Pray tomorrow gets me higher!"

Higher – away from this "Pressure on People – People on streets!" I sang, joining in.

He sang a few notes without words to match again, looking ready to burst.

From that moment on I could tell that the music spoke more clearly to him than to me.

I gave him my consent – a single "Okay!" and suddenly he stood, singing, and the bubbling feeling from before got stronger, causing me to loosen up – hell, I _dangled my legs_, like a little kid, singing nonsense notes that nonetheless actually _harmonized_ with the lines he was singing, getting more and more lost in the feeling of singing, smiling, forgetting where we were. Singing at the top of my lungs. I looked at Gazza, he looked at me, and I kneeled on the stretcher again, singing to him, with him, still without words, wondering how he never once stumbled or stuttered while he sang.

This was _his_ turf.

And I was allowed to share it.

I never felt better. I stood up, too, stomping on the stretcher, in protest, in sheer childish exhilaration, needing to somehow let out the building tension as I listened to Gazza sing. And the frustration as his voice started to remind me of something, but I couldn't figure out what it was. As if on cue, we took off the bandages, repeating the phrase "Let me out!" from before, Gazza bunching it up and throwing it away, me stretching it, glad to have another thing to fiddle with. Again his voice made me stomp, my stomach bubble, and I stretched the fabric over my head, singing "Pressure on People – People on streets!" as he drew out his last note. I turned to him again, smiling elated, meeting his now sparkling green eyes – and suddenly I recognized him.

He was that boy I saw on Graduation day!

Suddenly self-conscious again (I remembered the way I had thought about him then) I dropped down again, fast, facing away from him. The music flowed gentler, now, but I was wound up again. Because I remembered how I "Turned away from it all like a blind man" Gazza was singing with me? The same words, the same sorrow. The knot in my chest slowly loosened as we continued. "Sat on a fence, but it don't work"

Forest green eyes looked desperate as Gazza leaned in, explaining "Keep coming up with love, but it's all slashed and torn!" He really was like me. Try to open up, try giving love, and all you get is hurt. I remembered… my parents, the kids in school when I was younger – and I asked. "Why? Why?" Gazza chimed in, asking as well, drawing out that single syllable until I looked up from the mangled bandage in my hands, into his eyes – and then he started to smile, a mischievous spark in his eyes, that smile of his creeping up his face – and somehow I got his idea.

We jumped off the stretchers, shoving them away – mine landed with a very satisfying "Crunch" in a few monitors – and I knew we had to move, but right now all I wanted was to continue singing, even though words seemed to fail me, so I simply continued chanting "Love" over and over.

And then I looked out the window for a way to escape, anyway.

We were on ground level, on the backside, there was a lot of empty alleys leading away, and it was the middle of the night. How convenient.

I waved Gazza over and we climbed out of the window – he clumsily, me with the ease of practice I got from sneaking in and out of places I was or wasn't supposed to be in – ducking into the next alley. Gazza looked back to the window, to the hospital that remained silent, and his elated grin plus the knowledge that we were free made me giddy. And then he sang again. "Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking!"

Well I was running away with a guy who I only met minutes ago – a guy who admitted to being mad – without anything in our possession except our clothes and the bandage I still twisted in my hands, and we were singing out loud in the proximity of a building we had been captured in seconds ago. And I didn't give a damn.

We were as good as dead to anyone who ever knew us, anyway, so "Why can't we give ourselves one more chance?"

Start anew.

He answered, likewise. "Why can't we give love that one more chance?"

Yeah, why not? Starting to walk away from the hospital, deeper into the maze of broken-down houses, I chanted "Why can't we give love, give love…"

He ran after me, ahead of me, chuckling, scouting out the streets while I lost myself in the chant – until I realized exactly _what_ I was saying.

I stopped, embarrassed, only to hear him sing a soft "'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word…" from the other end of the crossroad we were currently standing at. I couldn't remember how we got here for the life of me, and the looming hospital had somehow vanished.

And then his eyes caught mine and everything else vanished as well.

Except those green eyes, and his voice, and the music that held me now in an even firmer grab.

Supplying me with words again.

Words he shared, his eyes never leaving mine. "And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night… And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves…" I raised the notes slightly "This is our last chance… this is our last dance…"

Words failed me again, as I saw that tender flicker in his green eyes as he breathed "This is ourselves…" Our selves… our _true_ selves, the ones that come out when you're "Under pressure…"

I could see the light gold and silver flecks in his eyes as we drew ever nearer…

"Under pressure" our voices got softer, and I felt him towering over me, felt myself straining upwards – and suddenly the music was gone, and I realized where I was – heck, when did we get so _near_ each other? Why was he leaning in? _Why was I reaching up?_ And what in God's name had _ever_ possessed me to think of him as a _child_?

The moment was broken, and it left me shy, self-conscious, uncomfortable – and to my utter shame, slightly disappointed. I looked away, fast, heard him utter a nervous chuckle, and desperately trying to explain, to protect myself again, I muttered "Pressure".

It was a jinx. But at least it solved the situation.

We moved apart, me fiddling with my hair, he stuffing his hands into the pockets of his old jeans, both of us silent. Then my survival instinct kicked in again. "So… where do we go?"

Back to Gaga-land was out of option – we would be recaptured before we could say "Globalsoft" – plus, I liked the drab colors of this broken-down Quarter in the middle of god-knows-where far better than the pastels of there, and I bet Gazza did, too (judging from his black leatherjacket and rebelliously spiked jet-black hair – not to speak of the ripped old jeans and army boots). But maybe he knew some place I didn't.

"Well…"

Obviously not.

But then he continued, once more excited. "Out into the night! Down into the streets!" Well, we got _that_ part covered already. "W-We're rebels now!" I stomped my foot – damn right we are! – and he ruined the moment. His voice dropping to a tone he maybe thought manly, he pointed at me and said "Cause Baby, we were born to run!".

Which is what he did, then, skipping like a little boy. The _hell_? "_Don't_ call me 'baby'!"

He turned around, chuckling. _Chuckling_! "Sorry, it's just a phrase I heard in my head!"

Oh, is that so? "Yeah?"

He shrugged, at least trying not to look too smug for his own good. "Yeah!"

I stormed past him, smiling – and shooting a cheery sounding, annoyed "Keep it there!" in his face that made him drop his smile in an instant, keeping him rooted to the spot for a while.

Then he ran after me again and started chattering as if nothing ever happened.


	3. 3: The Dreamer

Disclaimer: No, the storyline doesn't belong to me and I _still_ don't get why I have to type this atop every single darn chapter.

THE DREAMER

One thing about Gazza: he _never_ seems to just shut up.

I don't know how long we walked through the abandoned streets – it was still dark, although sometimes there were streetlights, flickering, but still working for some odd reason – but it had been a while already.

And all the time Gazza was talking.

I mean, I understand that he, like me, must have had nobody to really _talk_ to for a long while, but seriously? I was practically a total stranger to him, and yet he yapped on and on with the abandon of an eager puppy with a new toy.

Which for a while had been cute, but it really got annoying.

Especially now that he got to talking about the stuff in his head. He grew more exited the more he talked and talked more as his excitement grew.

Still I remained mostly silent – for one, because as long as he talked about himself, I wouldn't have to talk about _me_, but also because there never was the _opportunity_ to say something with him always talking.

Finally, as we reached a hole in the mesh that lead to an abandoned car dump, he running ahead, me trotting behind, wondering why the heck I _did_, my patience ran thin.

"All my life, I mean, _all_ my life, I always felt that I had a sort of" he jumped through the fence, looking conspiratorial "_purpose_, y' know? Some sort of… special destiny, or something!" Laughing, he finally turned back to me as I climbed through the hole. "That has to mean something, surely!"

At that point I was positively annoyed. And tired. And hungry. And slightly cold. Altogether not in a very good mood. "Well, it does!" And that was when my sarcasm was at its best. Or worst, when you were on the receiving end. "That you're a self-important, arrogant asshole!"

He stopped, his elated grin fading to shock, and then to hurt.

Please, not those eyes again! His disappointed, slightly betrayed look made me want to make amends.

I couldn't lay off the sarcasm, though.

"Right… What 'special destiny'?" I rolled my eyes – I hated that he seemed to be able to so easily sway me – and he, for once, seemed serious. His voice was down to a normal level at least, and he wasn't squeaking in excitement.

"It has to do with the stuff I dream!" he explained, walking back to me, and again I rolled my eyes at him. Of _course_ it did.

Gazza actually looked as if he was thinking seriously about the stuff he dreamed for once, slightly confused. "The phrases, they – they always come back to the same thing!" Of course they did. And then he got excited, channelling the puppy again. He stared into empty space, dragging me over as if to share a view of something _he_ could clearly picture. Someone should tell him that I didn't read frigging minds! He spread his arms, indicating space. "Well, I see a great, wide space," I got that, thank you. Self-consciously, I rubbed my arm where he had touched me only moments before. I wasn't used to touches. He blabbered on, oblivious. "And people, people everywhere! And noise, huge, huge noise!" He looked positively thrilled, and I wondered again why I stayed. Wiping his nose in excitement, he continued, "And then, then come the words!"

He stopped, and I _knew_ he was giving me the opportunity to say something impressed. Only that I wasn't, and was in a really bad mood, so all I could give him was a very dry "Oh, what words?"

This time he actually noticed, and his expression was a bit strained. I coughed, overplaying the awkward feeling in my stomach and played the attentive listener again. It seemed to appease him as he told me.

"Seek out the place of living rock!" Yeah, sure. Living Rocks. "A bright, bright star will lead the way –" Who the hell still knew how to navigate by stars, and which stars were still bright enough? Seriously! But Gazza wasn't finished spouting nonsense. A desperate, hopeful, longing look crossed his face as he ended. "Go, to where the champions played!"

The hopeful longing remained, and I thought it was high time someone pulled him back to the ground. And so, quite seriously, I turned to him, like something just occurred to me – he turned, hopeful – "Sounds like Bullocks to me!"

Indignation crossed his features again, but also a little doubt about the words he just said. "Maybe…" Well, at least he _started_ to think. A bit. I wandered away from him, when his once more excited voice stopped me. "You know, I dreamt a name for you, too, I think!"

It was so obvious he wanted to switch the topic, but it worked. Not in a way he would have liked, I bet, though.

I got suspicious of him again. Scowling slightly, I asked "How would you do that? You only met me _today_?" As far as I knew... I mean, was it coincidence that we had been placed in the same hospital room? The one it probably was easiest to flee from?

He looked a bit bashful, but happy. "Oh, well, yeah, b-but I always knew that I'd meet you!" That grin spread over his face again, a spark lightening up his green eyes. There was no way in hell that all this innocence was a trick. I smiled a bit, and the spark grew. "I always knew there was another, uhm, _rebel_ rebel out there!" I liked the sound of that. Rebel. Not misfit or freak. A _rebel._ "Another wild thing!" He continued, elatedly bouncing over, tickling my stomach.

Touching me again.

I moved away, just not _used_ to casual, playful touches like those. They gave me a strange feeling in my stomach. "Okay… so what do you wanna call me?" I was considered dead, anyway, so what did my name count now? Not that I ever liked it, anyway. Why not give it a shot? I looked up, expectantly.

Obviously pleased with himself, he answered.

"Scaramouche!"

I should have remembered who I was talking to.

"Scaramouche?" I laughed, a bit uneasily, and his expression grew smug. "Isn't that a bit…" how to say it... "C r a p!"

That took him down a peg, and now he looked embarrassed – and the slightest bit annoyed.

"Well, I DID dream some others, but frankly, I thought it was the best!" was his defensive response.

I remained sceptical. "Yeah, well, what were the others?" Maybe there was a nicer one among them.

I should have known better by now.

Gazza was reluctant to answer, looking like even _he_ thought nothing of those names and the moment he opened his mouth I knew why. They were ridiculous! And unfitting.

"Long Tall Sally" I'm rather small, and Sally seemed so... goody-two-shoes.

"Honky Tonk Woman," that's not even a name, and what the hell is a Honky Tonk? Seeing my face, he snorted and went on.

"Lucy in the sky with diamonds," Lucy was a nice name – _too_ nice. Plus the fact that I am _not_ hanging around up there and all I know about diamonds is that they glitter.

I don't like glitter.

I threw Gazza another look – he obviously wasn't finished yet – and he glanced at me, pleading, unsure, but said it anyway.

"Or – uh – fat bottomed girl."

Now that was too much. I don't like my behind, but I am _not_ fat!

Besides, that was another name-that-is-none.

"Okay, I'll take Scaramouche!"

He rolled his eyes – never knew he could do that as well – and shrugged, as if to say 'Well, told you so!', and I pondered my new name a bit. "Scaramouche!"

I called it out to the deserted car dump, letting it roll off my tongue – the sharp start that softened out, the foreign compilation of syllables, listening to the way it filled the wrecks surrounding us.

Getting used to it.

And something fell into place. "Actually, I quite like it."

Gazza relaxed noticeably. A smile worked itself onto my lips, and I knew my eyes lit with a fierce fire of their own as I thought of the possibilities... "Sounds kind of… Anarchic!" I hit the air in enthusiasm and heard Gazza chuckle that short, elated little laugh of his as he came closer again – now that he no longer had anything to fear...

Then something occurred to me.

The name... The sound of it –. "It's almost like what I think", for I only ever read the description to that word – "they used to call," I turned to Gazza, holding up a finger to point out the significance of it "a 'tune'!"

"A tune…" He got a faraway look in his eyes as he pondered the word "Yes…" then something seemed to click in his head and he grew excited again. "Oh…Scaramouche – Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?"

Will I do the _what_?

He almost kneeled before me, hands outstretched in a pleading gesture, his expression almost desperate, and I had no idea what the hell he wanted from me.

Except...

"Are you trying to get in my pants?" He _was_ a boy, after all.

He recoiled, spluttering indignantly.

"NO!"

His reaction was so surprised and immediate that I believed him, but still – "What's doing the fandango?" I demanded to know hands stemmed into my hips. He laughed, nervously, and I got why he looked so desperate before – he wondered what it was, too, and hoped that I would know what it was, since the name was mine now. Since that bubble was burst he now proceeded to guess.

"I-I think perhaps – perhaps it's dancing!"

So it was _dancing_ now, of all things? Well, tough luck with that one. Me and _dancing_. Pah!

"So you mean like Gaga Moves?" I was pissed now. I thought he liked them as little as I did? "Oh, well, excuse me while I" mimicking retching I doubled over, earning me a shocked look from Gazza as he took a cautious step back when I came back up "P U K E! Globalsoft _write_ the song" I mimicked writing as he tried to get in between my rant and me – in vain – "And work out the steps" I mock-danced a few of those silly moves I never had bothered to learn "And every kid on Planet Mall does exactly the _same_ _thing_!" Which, besides my inability to move according to the steps, was another factor why I never bothered learning them.

Gazza tried to placate me. And to defend himself.

"No, I – I think that there was a time when, when dancing wasn't like that!" It seemed easier for him to sort out his thoughts when he was trying to explain them to me. "When it was more, uhm free! You know, kind of" there was this faraway look again "individually expressive..."

Gazza then proceeded to do – _something_. Holding his left hand to his side as if he held a stick across his stomach – a bit lower, actually – he strummed the air in front with his right hand fingers, running up and down the dump, obviously enjoying himself quite a bit, until he fell to his knees in a grand gesture, heavily breathing, eyes closed, with a stupid grin on his face. Waiting for my opinion, or so it seemed. Well, _that_ he could have.

"Well, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so _embarrassing_ in my _life_!"

And I was being totally, completely serious here.

He looked indignant again, but luckily the kicked puppy was only very, very light in his features. I guess he knew how hilarious he looked, because he grew defensive.

"Well, it looks better when I'm holding a Tennis racket!" Well, that explained the strange way he held his hands, at least. His fingers playing the air where they _had_ had looked – _strange_, to say the least.

"It would have to!" Seriously, I think I'd rather dance Gaga.

Gazza got up. "Well, l-look, maybe doing the fandango" changing the topic, are we? Smooth, Very smooth - _not_ "is just about being friends!"

That stunned me. That and his sudden close proximity.

"Friends?" I edged away, slightly uncomfortable, again. I was not used to being _near_ someone, and the last time he was that near... "Weeeell, I never had a 'friend'..." which was the truth, and a slip-up, since I kind of lost concentration for a bit, and Gazza misunderstood. His eyes lost the hopeful shimmer and grew hurt. Not like the kicked Puppy before. A real hurt, harsh and bitter. He turned, walked away.

"You amaze me." His voice dripped with sarcasm, surprising me.

Hurting me a bit, and I felt ashamed. He had been nothing but open and I had been a bitch. A bitch afraid to let him in, but I did not want him to leave. So before I lost my nerve, I opened up a bit.

"Always thought I'd quite like one, though…" My voice had been soft, but it stopped him dead in his tracks. He turned back around, a hopeful glimmer once more alight in his eyes.

"So… we…ARE friends, then?" he asked, gesturing between me and him, sounding as if what he heard was too good to be true.

"If you want!" I rolled my eyes, trying to sound indifferent. Trying not to let him hear how much it would mean to me. I am crappy at this whole emotional stuff, always have been.

"Oh… I do, I really do!" Gazza perked up, almost running towards me, his arms slightly raised.

Oh, no, no hugs! I backed away.

"Okay, then!" Trying to stop his enthusiasm a bit, although I realized that I had almost missed the excited puppy he now channelled again. "So we're friends!" My mock-excited tone was hard to achieve because deep down I felt at least as giddy as he looked. Did I mention that I am crap at expressing emotions? Gazza went unfazed by it, too caught up in his own happiness.

"This is SO cool!" The goofy grin seemed to be permanent, and it made me edgy. I had to get him down a peg or he would be impossible for the next few hours.

"S long as you get to work on the _dancing_!" I spat in an effort to quell his enthusiasm (and because I never wanted to see _that_ again), but a cry startled us both before he even had the time to process what I said.

"Let's get them!" a female voice shouted, and suddenly they were upon us. All I got was a flurry of long, untamed blonde hair and short, dark clothes, then the woman was upon me – hell, she was strong – and I only had time to reach my hand up to my chin when I felt her slinging a string around my neck. Gazza shouted – I think he ordered her to let me go – and started towards us when he was blocked by a heavy-muscled black guy in a – skirt? The guy pushed Gaz towards the broken down Van they probably had been hiding behind, having a hard time because Gazza tried to get to me again as I struggled against the hold the woman had on me. I heard Gazza hit the Van and struggled harder, resulting in the woman pulling at the string around my neck.

"Quick, bitch, where did your boyfriend get those words?" she demanded hotly in a heavy Scottish accent, and I was confused

"What words?" And what _boyfriend_, for that matter?

"Well, he calls you Scaramouche!" If you listened in on us, then _why_ do you call him my _boyfriend?_ "He's read the fragments! He knows the holy words!" Holy _what_? Which fragments? Gazza? _What the hell is going on?_

Gazza still struggled against the hold of the black man, although his confusion lessened his efforts quite a bit. "I don't know any holy texts! I-I don't know what you're talking about!" I never guessed I would ever see Gazza angry, but now he was. Well, at least annoyed, but still.

"Long Tall Sally!" the black guy spat and Gazza started. "Honky-Tonk Woman! The words, man! The words from the past!" The green eyes were wide as saucers by now as Gazza realized that somehow these guys _knew_ the nonsense names he thought he dreamed up. From the past, where they? Blondie chimed in, screaming right into my ear.

"You've seen the fragments! You've been to the Heartbreak Hotel!" To the _what_, please? "You're a spy!" My head whipped around to Gazza. I _had_ thought of that before... my chest felt constricted as I silently prayed for my suspicions to be scattered. My eyes must have betrayed my thoughts, since Gazza looked slightly panicked as he looked at me and back to the black guy who still held him pressed up against the Van.

"No, I-I-I really don't know what you're talking about!" I could tell he was frightened, he started to laugh nervously, and I feared a mental breakdown. Which, by the way was _not_ the best way to prove that he was trustworthy. "I" – another nervous, high-pitched laugh, followed by an escape attempt that was quickly stopped by the black guy slamming him back into the side of the Van – "I-I-I just hear these things in my head, that's all!"

"Who are you?" The man in the skirt obviously had enough. He screamed at Gazza and pressed him even tighter to the Van, probably one of the reasons Gazza breathed so hard. The other being fear. Which also became obvious as Gazza practically squealed "I don't know!" and turned his head away, pressing his eyes shut. When he opened them again to glance at the man in front of him, he looked positively mad. "Why do people keep asking me that?" Geez, that boy had almost as much venom in his voice as me! Who'd have guessed?

And then that odd look crossed his face again and I knew what was coming.

Phrases in his head.

Boy, was I ever right.

"I am the walrus!" The man jumped back, looking shocked, the woman behind me flinched, and Gazza looked at the sky, looking like even _he_ was wondering what the hell he just said. But the raving wasn't over. "This is Major Tom to Ground Control!" This is who to what? "Can you hear the drums, Fernando?" I looked at the woman behind me as she and the man looked around, confused, and wondered who the hell Fernando was. "I am" the booming voice drew our eyes back to Gazza, who pointed at the black guy with a challenging glint in the eyes – "The dancing Queen!"

Yeah, _sure._ Whatever makes you sleep at night.

"You" the voice of the man seemed to wake Gazza from a haze, as he looked down at his outstretched finger and quickly drew it back, seeming like he wondered what the hell just happened. But at least the man seemed to speak in a normal way now, if slightly frazzled. "You just hear these holy words? In your head?" I still wondered how this load of useless phrases was anything _remotely_ holy, but Gaz had calmed down.

"Yes. I–I don't know where they come from." He looked lost, and confused. "It's driving me mad, all those phrases and sounds, stupid, useless phrases…" Well, at least he knew they were stupid "I mean, what the hell is a Tambourine Man?" he asked, turning to the woman behind me, which only resulted in her flinching and drawing the string tighter against my hands that still tried to protect my throat from being constricted. "What's the story, morning glory?" Despite our precarious situation I grinned a bit as he turned to the man with _that_ question. Yeah, that guy was a real little ball of sunshine. "Who _was_ the real slim Shady?" But with every phrase I felt Blondie behind me lean in a little more, dropping the string until it was in front of my chest, saw a comprehension dawn on the man's face. Gazza went on, oblivious. "It's torture! But… All I know," Blondie leaned in more, the Guy scanned his face even closer, and I saw the faraway look cross Gazza's features again. Great. "And I don't even know _why_ I know it, is that I really, _really_, _REALLY_ wanna zig-a-zig- ah!" I felt Blondie recoil, but I hardly felt the pull at my chest due to staring at Gazza in utter exasperation.

It was official.

That guy was completely bonkers.

I mean, first a fandango, now a zig-a-zig-ah (whatever _that_ was supposed to be). And he looked like a lovesick seal, blinking up towards the sky, hands crossed in front of him.

The black guy looked taken aback, then thoughtful, then decisive. He took great strides towards us, calling out "Meat!" (what was _that_ all about) and pulled the woman, who looked uncomfortable with letting me go, away from me. I snarled at her. Try a rope around your neck and see how uncomfortable you feel _then!_ The two of them argued under their breaths and I went to Gazza, who slowly came out of his phrase-induced haze, to see if he was alright. He looked at me with a worried gaze, raising his hand as if to touch my neck, pulling back at the last moment as I fidgeted a bit. It was somehow – sweet. First trying to rescue me, then worrying if I got hurt... coming from him, it was a bit pointless, really, but sweet nonetheless. I dropped my head to hide my embarrassment when I heard the woman exclaim:

"Well, test him!" Geez, Venom much? "And his chick!"

Now wait just a clock-tick.

"His _'CHICK'?"_ I felt more than saw Gazza take a few steps back at my fury. Well, he knew me a bit by then, I guess. Even the black guy stopped dead in his tracks, while Blondie remained unfazed. "What am I now, _poultry_?" No answer. Blondie still looked haughty; her guy at least looked a bit cautious now. I turned back to Gazza, annoyed. "Chick!" I mumbled under my breath. I would strangle whoever came up with _that_.

Gazza maintained the safety distance (that is to say, out of my reach) and tried being brave.

"Hey, I-I-I don't have to prove myself to you!"

It was a nice try, really, only the stuttering kind of ruined the effect, so the only reaction we got was a bossy "TEST him!" from the woman. Gazza and I shared a nervous look – what did they want to test? –, but then I decided, 'Hey, this is _him_ they want to test, so I might as well enjoy the show and save his ass if needed", scooted closer to him under the pretence of wanting to lean on the open window of the Van behind us and watched as the guy stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath – and sang.

"_Mama – just killed a man_

_Put a gun against his head_

_Pulled my trigger, now he's dead_"

It wasn't anything like the singing I had been doing with Gazza. That had been music pouring out of him, through us. As it had been my first time singing – an outlet for pressure and emotion. This was not. The guy sang, and it was completely deliberate. He knew what he was doing, and I was kind of surprised since his voice was a very rich, almost soothing one. It did not seem to fit his burly figure.

He finished, at a point that obviously called for more, and indicated for Gazza to continue. The boy looked slightly shocked, then he furrowed his brow, thinking, licking his lips nervously (and no, that did _not_ make me think about doing that, too!) – and then continued in a voice soft as velvet, as the two stared in wonder.

"_Mama – life had just begun_

_But now I've gone and thrown it all away..."_

His face was calm as soon as he started singing. Calmer than I had ever seen him. Strangely at peace. I gripped my arms tighter to my chest to keep myself from going over and hugging him. They all seemed to have forgotten about me at that point, anyway.

"He knows the text! But he's never read it! He's The Man!" The black guy clearly was beyond excited now, even though I didn't get why he called Gazza – by all means still very much a boy/puppy in my books – a man. In capital letters, even.

"But what does it mean?" All of a sudden Blondie seemed as excited as her friend, as she bombarded a clearly overwhelmed Gazza with questions about the text the males had just sung. I just stood behind and (now that the danger was no longer imminent) enjoyed the show. I mean, Gazza listening attentively to her every question, only to shoot her down with an exasperated (and expected – by me, at least) "I don't know!" _was_ pretty hilarious.

Blondie almost stuck an accusing finger down his nostril as she complained. "We've been searching for the meaning all our _lives_!" Gazza sent me a pleading glance and then tried to explain, while I thought 'And that is _his_ problem _how?'_

Except for the fact that he probably had, too.

And now that he finally found someone to share his confusion, he was getting out of hand. Grabbing the startled blonde by her arms, he stammered worse than before: "No, I-I-I tell you, I-I-I don't know!" She ripped out of his grip and he, unfazed, ranted on. "I-I-I just hear these words in my head, that's all! Mama, OOOH!" He started to sing, reaching heights that made me wonder who kicked _him_ in the balls, only to be shushed by the worried pair. I understood where they were coming from, I didn't want the police after me, and something made me think they didn't, either.

"You have to come with us!" The man ordered, setting me on edge a bit. And then Blondie finally decided to remember my presence.

"Well, not _her_! She isn't The One; we don't need _her_!"

Geez.

I thought I had left behind that tone of disdain when I left Pastel Paradise. Well, that's what you get for getting your hopes up... I averted my eyes, because the words still hurt. The angry "Hey, hey look!" from Gazza made me turn in time to see him shake off the black guys grip and storm over to me, declaring he would not go _anywhere_ without me. Which was sweet, but I was hurt and _still_ had nothing to eat. Plus, I was probably _way_ more cautious than him.

"Uh, Gazza? Who says I wanna go _anywhere_? These people could be _killers!"_

I mean, hello? He was blabbing on about that special destiny of his, they obviously overheard, and now – o wonder – they had one ready-made for him? Very likely. No, really!

Gazza threw them a wary look then, but the black guy exclaimed proudly: "We are, Baby!" _Baby_? That was worse than 'chick', and _please,_ who is proud of being - "Killers, Thrillers and Bismillahs!"

Killers, Thrillers and _what_, please? And obviously, his idea of what being a 'Killer' entitled differed from my own. Drastically. Blondie chimed in now in what was obviously a very well-rehearsed speech.

"We're the resistance! The last hope!"

Well, if 'The Last Hope' depended on _Gazza_ of all people, we were probably pretty much doomed, now, weren't we?

"We are the Bohemians!" The guy announced proudly, and I liked the ring of that name. Blondie continued. "And now you have a choice! Are you ready to break free?" I remembered Gazza's first song, and then the hospital. I grinned a little – the "breaking free" part was covered already. The pair shot off phrases now, getting themselves – and Gazza – more excited by the second.

"Do you want it all?"

"To be a shooting star? A Tiger?"

"Defy the laws of gravity!"

"Are you ready to be"

"CHAMPIONS?" That last word rang out in a triumphant yell, in which Blondie and Gazza quickly chimed in – and then I did, too, feeling slightly wicked – and like there was too much excitement going on here. And as soon as they grew silent, I stated, matter-of-factly: "Sounds a bit boring if you ask me," only to be met by three very, _very_ scandalised stares and a confused "What?" from Gazza. Geez, where they unable to take a joke?

"Yo, I was _joking_, Gazza!" I thought he knew me by now? "Of _course_ I wanna go!"

"Oh, right!" He smiled an elated smile at me and chuckled. The man cut in – luckily _before_ I went all gooey.

"Then understand this! If you join the Bohemians, there's no way back to Gaga-land!" No shit, huh? What did he think we were doing here? Taking a midnight stroll? Though Gazza looked slightly surprised... "You'll be an outcast, forever!" Like we weren't before? "No longer a member of the consuman race!"

Was that a promise or did he actually think _that_ could serve as a threat for _me_?

"Sounds perfect, let's _go_!" This was the most giddy I had felt for a long time, or at least the first time I had actually _acted_ on the feeling.

Then Blondie surprised me again – she started singing. And dancing. I was not too sure how much of that stemmed from Gazza's presence, but seeing how she was not at all confused or overwhelmed I guessed she did this more often.

And so fitting the words were, too.

"And you're rushing headlong, you've got a new goal  
And you're rushing headlong out of control"

Well, that was for sure. I suddenly felt kind of lost – Gazza obviously was intrigued, and Blondie's dancing was smooth, confident, bold. I felt very, very plain and stiff right then. Blondie's friend chimed in, trying to string me along.

"And you think you're so strong  
But there ain't no stopping

And there's nothin' you can do about it!"

I was still hesitant, but then Gazza laughed and pulled me aside, whispering a "Scaramouche – and you are absolutely sure you want to do this?" with pleading eyes – and this, him being ready to drop all this if I said "no", made me loosen up. I grinned, and as Blondie called "Come on!" it was _me_ that pulled _him_ along to where the black guy stood and singing "No there's nothing you can" while sticking his hand out, followed by Gazza, who laid his hand atop his, singing "Nothing you can" and me right behind him, doing the same, and the woman topping it with "Do about it!" We shook the joined hands a few times, then Gazza laughed – and the music came crashing down on us.

The cluster broke up into the other three dancing and me still feeling a little intimidated by the confident way the blonde danced, therefore being a little stiff. Her friend noticed – again – and while Gazza danced a bit with Blondie, he helped me on top of the blue Van, where Gazza then followed, which made Blondie hurry along to as to not be left out, I assumed. Having Gazza next to me again, singing "Yeah" at the top of his voice drowned out most of my insecurities in seconds, and I joined in with more nonsense, shouting a "hey!" at the end of it, at which Gazza flashed me a grin.

Blondie sang again, and I was a little bit confused by it – I mean, what does "He used to be a man with a stick in his hand" have to do with anything, and what exactly did it tell us about her man? – but I joined everyone in the nonsense that was "Oop diddy diddy, oop diddy doo" afterwards.

Then it was the guy's turn, and he retaliated with "She used to be a woman with a hot dog stand!" which at least was a little more precise, but no less confusing. The chorus of "Oop diddy diddy, oop diddy doo" rang out nonetheless, as the woman bowed down and opened the skylight of the van, gesturing for us to hop down through it, which Gazza did, while she sang some nonsense about 'soup in the laundry bag'. 'Well, I guess the making sense was fun as it lasted, but this was even more of that, even if I don't get it' I thought while I followed Gazza down (he caught me as I stumbled slightly) and didn't hear anything further from the couple above until the guy jumped down, closing the skylight, singing something about a "cheap B-movie", whatever that was.

We were now inside the Van, which, as I only now realized, was connected to the ground and seemed to cover the secret entrance to a closed part of the subway tracks, which we walk-danced through for some time, me loosening up (the music continued all the way, with random bursts of the "Headlong" part when the pressure became too much – it was fun!), although I asked at one point or the other where we were going, to which the blonde only responded "We're going down, hen!" which I let slide, because "Hen" was at the very least, better than "chick", and "Down" was as good an answer as any, considering they still did not trust us fully. Plus, it _is_ kind of hard to get pissed when the music bubbles happily in your chest. The feeling was strange – the longer the music continued, the hazier the reasons for restraint grew, and as Gazza started a verse of his own – "When a red hot man meets a white hot lady", while pointing at me, I simply went along with it, skimming my hands down my sides and answering." Soon the fire starts to burn and gets 'em more than half crazy" (I know – too close for comfort, but at least it made _sense_!)

Gazza improving his dance-style started to bother me a bit though – the way he wriggled his hips made me a little unfocused for a while – or _too_ focused, one might say – just on the wrong things. (Geez, did that boy _have_to be so handsome?) But his verse ended, and it was my turn, and again Music made me just blurt out whatever I was feeling.

"It ain't no time to figure wrong from right  
Cause reasons out the window, better hold on tight"

And just like that, without me really knowing how it had happened, I stood behind Gazza, me holding on tightly to his arms, my right leg wound around his hip and him holding on tightly to _that_, while the black guy gave his girl a piggy-back ride.

The place where Gazza placed his hand on my thigh tingled for a long while after that.

We walked on after that, singing the refrain again, messing around, until Gazza initiated the hand-topping again, us screaming "Headlong!" for the last time, grinning like fools – and as the music subsided, the black guy spread his arms wide, the gesture taking in an abandoned subway station in front of us. Pride rang in his voice as he boomed: "Welcome – to the Heartbreak Hotel!"

Only then did I realize that we were not alone anymore.

* * *

Okay, here's the deal: I really have no idea what the poitically correct term for a person with a very high percentage of natural Melanine-pigments is, and Scara would, more likely than not, just call him black anyway, since she wouldn't bother with long terms, and I needed some way for her to talk of him. So, I mean absolutely no offense, okay? I probably would have been able to come up with a better way to speak of Brit without calling him by name had I been a native speaker, but I'm not, and that's that.

Pray tell me if I made horrible mistakes, and what I could still improve, allright?

I will shut up now.


	4. 4: The Bohemian Stronghold

THE BOHEMIAN STRONGHOLD

_The black guy spread his arms wide, the gesture taking in an abandoned subway station in front of us._ _Pride rang in his voice as he boomed: "Welcome – to the Heartbreak Hotel!"_

_Only then did I realize that we were not alone anymore._

People in strange, individualistic clothes surrounded us, still more coming out of the entrance of the – obviously _not_ abandoned – station. Gazza, being the slightly naïve fool that he is, started towards them, but I saw the suspicion in their eyes and tugged at his sleeve, making him back away with me. He was excited – new people seemed to do that to him – and pointed at the crazy, multi-coloured hairdo of one of the group.

I figured that these people had to be the resistance.

The Bohemians.

"Who're these two, Brit?" A male voice asked, and as the owner of that voice came forth, I couldn't help but point and stare.

I mean, once you see a guy in a skirt you really think you've seen it all.

Obviously, that assumption had been wrong, for the man standing before us now did not only wear a rather ripped up leather ensemble, decorated with all sort of symbols foreign to me, but his long, combed-back blond mane framed eyes with running black makeup (it looked like he had cried black tears) and his lips, which were pressed into a thin line of disdain, were coloured with dark brownish lipstick.

The Black guy – Brit, it seemed – straightened out Gazza's jacket, while proudly explaining that he found who they had been waiting for.

Mr Black Tears cocked a sceptical eyebrow. "The Dreamer?" Drawing a deep breath that clearly stated that he was ruling his temper (Blimey, such a drama queen!) he explained, slowly as if talking to a child: "Just because he has a leather jacket does not make him The Wild One!" Blondie took a step back, made as if to say something, making Brit shush her, thus neglecting to say something about Drama Queen's statement, which the guy took as an invite to proceed talking. "He looks like a clone from the zone to me!"

Well, that guy obviously had not been near Boy-zone for a while, because I did and had never seen _anyone_ looking like Gazza – the ink-black hair, light skin-tone (Zone-Clones mostly preferred a tan and lighter shades of hair), not to talk about his clothes.

Brit tried to convince him by telling them what Gazza called himself. I still resented the name, and even more so as it made everything worse. Before, the Bohemians had been wary. Now, Drama Queen came to the same conclusion Brit and Blondie had before – "He has seen the Texts, he's a spy," that kind of yapping.

"Which is what I said!" Gee, thank you, Blondie! Just what we needed – _not_! Because Drama Queen, with Blondie's reassurance of his suspicions, ordered the now livid resistance group to kill Gazza.

Things became a frenzy. I tried to push Gazza out of the way of the Crowd that screamed bloody murder, but he just grabbed my arm and dragged me away, using his body as a shield between me and the mob. Which was cute, but, once again, pretty pointless as I was not the one in danger here.

What saved him in the end was Brit, who exclaimed that "anyone who wants to kill the dude has to come past me!" and stood in all his (despite the skirt) intimidating burliness between his friends and us. Accidentally placing his hand on the very strange pointy breast of the golden top of a strange guy with black and white hair. Which he seemed to mind as much as if he had been a girl. Geez, will wonders never cease... Gazza once again gave me a once-over to see if I was alright (they haven't been anywhere _near_ us, so why wouldn't I be?) Brit seemed a bit pissed off now. "He hasn't seen the texts! How _could_ he? We guard them with our _lives_!" Blondie chimed in then "He says he _dreams_ the words!" Her tone of voice made it obvious what she thought of the idea. It seemed she had only taken us along to indulge Brit. Lovely. Brit's voice shook me out of my venomous thoughts: "He calls the chick 'Scaramouche'!"

Now wait just a second, there.

"What is this 'chick'-business?" Suddenly everything was quiet as the Bohemians stared at me a little shocked. I glared them down. "Do I have _feathers_?" I mock-clucked along, "Do I lay _eggs_?" And Gazza, I'll beat you up if just then you actually checked if I did.

Finally, Drama Queen gathered enough of his wits to address me. "Oi! Ch..." I glared at him "Lady! We believe there was a time that when a cool dude wished to refer to his red-hot mama" Excuse me, MAMA? "he would use the term 'chick'! It's a mark of respect!" I felt a headache coming up, and started to wave away to show that I would let it slide when he continued "Second only to 'bitch'!"

I let my arm sink to stare at him a bit incredulous.

I mean, seriously?

'Bitch' as a mark of _respect_, of all things?

"Something tells me you got _that_ wrong!"Which made a few people snicker; only serving in making Drama Queen quite embarrassed and thereby irritated.

"Yeah, well, we're getting off the point, alright!" Way to change topic! "The point is this dude, he's a spy!"

I had started to walk back to where Gazza had been standing, but as it was now his turn to be offended, I turned around again to back him up with a few fierce glares at anyone trying to get near. I had never seen Gazza so annoyed. Frightened, exhilarated, yes, but not this outraged. "Well, look, I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, alright? I-I didn't ask to be brought here!" Well, no, but you didn't exactly fight it, either! The thought crossed my mind or a while, but then I remembered that I was one of only two of his allies right now and focused again on the glaring. "I-I don't know who you people are, o-or anything about your stupid texts!"

I groaned. He was such an airhead! We wanted these people to _not_ kill him, if possible, and this _so_ didn't help! I turned to him as the bohemians advanced on us with outraged cries, and we fought a brief tug-of-war over who would protect whom, as Brit's powerful Baritone cut through the din, stopping both the Bohemians and us. "He just knows the stuff! It's in his head!"

Gazza let go of me, trailing his fingers along my arms as he did, and I stayed close to him. Just to make sure I would be able to rush in if anything happened

Or so I told myself over the tingles.

As if realizing that he had made a mistake, Gazza hesitantly tried to make good again by inquiring, hesitantly, what the 'Texts' were.

Drama Queen shot him one more contemplating look before answering. (I swear I could see his mane deflate as he lowered his hackles.) His voice was much calmer now, and somewhat sullen. "Fragments. Nothing more. Stuff that we and the other Bohemians across the Global shopping precinct have found." There were more? Nice.

The girl with the somewhat conical, multicoloured hairdo Gazza had pointed at earlier chimed in then. "We have scraps of stuff. Magazines –"

Now I was curious. I had never heard that word before, and I hate not to know something. I left Gazza to ask Conic Head: "What's that? Magazines?"

Once again Drama Queen seemed somewhat surprised by my interjection, but it seemed questioning about their Texts was the thing to do if you wanted to endear yourself to them. I could see a glint of eagerness in Drama Queen's eyes as he explained. "Eh, they're kinda like websites. But they're made of paper. You can touch them." I was fascinated. I only once had seen paper, or held it, and I had loved the texture. And there must have been a lot of paper if these magazines held the information of a whole website! But it seemed this was only one of the many wonders the Bohemians had found, for Drama Queen continued. "And Posters. Which are weird, static commercials stuck to walls." He drew himself up to stand a little straighter, and pride shone through at his next words. "We take our names from these clues from the Age of Rock."

Conic Head smiled at us. She seemed warm, kind. Motherly, somehow. Or at least how I think a mother should be like. "I'm Aretha" she introduced herself. I liked her name.

"The Name's Paul McCartney." Drama Queen seemed a bit miffed that Aretha had stolen his place of first in line and shouted his introduction a little louder than he probably intended, for he looked a little bashful as he continued, in a much softer voice "They, uh, call me Big Macca."

Blondie was next. "I'm Meat. Meat Loaf." And her name was indeed a funny one.

"I'm Madonna", a very painted, somewhat hyper girl called across the place, standing on her tippy-toes and waving in an attempt to be seen.

"They call me PRINCE!" the man with the strange golden corset exclaimed, strutting over to me, until I almost stood face to breast with him and made a weird bowing motion, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I tried to back away a bit (seriously, personal space, people?) when a nasal voice behind me startled me and saved me from bumping into the - man that had suddenly popped up behind me. "I'm Cliff Richard", he said waving polished nails in a very girlish fashion as I turned to see him, his lips with a painted black heart covering the middle stretched into a kind smile. I hardly had time to smile an unsure smile back at him when a surly voice stated that the owner was "Charlotte Friggin' Church", who obviously had a thing for skin-tight leather-or-something-overalls with a lot of holes in them.

A man appeared behind her. Where the other Bohemians were very much at ease, he held himself with pride and elegance, despite his blond Rastas being swept up in a hairstyle that very much resembled a palm tree, or his glittering coat and golden lipstick. He proclaimed that he was "Bob. Bob the Poet, Bob the Rebel, Bob the Prophet – I am Bob the Builder!" Well, I don't quite get how being a Builder had anything at all to do with being all of the other stuff – especially the part with the prophet made me wonder – but I was too busy, really, taking everything in, to do anything but stare at the ragtag motley crew around me. Prince and Cliff Richards seemed to have taken quite the shine to me, since they hardly gave me space to move while they chattered away. Well, Prince chattered, Cliff Richards was seemingly more interested in my clothes and hair. Geez, if I have ever seen anything gay, it's Cliff! But it wass so strange a sensation not to be met with disdain that I actually started to enjoy myself.

A quick glance at Gazza told me that he was beyond exhilarated now. He grinned so widely that I am sure his face was going to split in half any second, and he jerked around trying to take everything in. Then his eyes fall back onto the guy that brought us here. "So who are you?"

Geez, Gazza, don't you ever _listen_?

But his question stirred the group. Everyone went quiet, Cliff even stopped fiddling with my hair, and there was a slight feeling of – anticipation? Something like that – in the air. Brit held all attention as he proudly exclaimed that he was "the biggest, baddest, meanest, nastiest, ugliest, most raging, rapping, rock'n'roll, sick, punk, heavy metal psycho bastard that ever got get-down funky!"

A most impressive accumulation of words that made no sense whatsoever, indeed. Especially when connected with this guy, who, for all his fearsome bulkiness, so far had been almost the epitome of niceness.

He paused for effect.

"They call me - Britney Spears!"

Wasn't Britney a rather female sounding name?

But all the Bohemians cheered. They seemed to like whoever Brit got his name from, as well as the guy himself. And hey, if he liked it, who am I to complain? I was shaken from my thoughts as Cliff nudged me towards the platform, which was mostly occupied by females. I shot a quick look back at Gazza, but Cliff reassured me that now there would be no more danger for us from any of them. We were one of them now, or so he said. The thought made me smile.

I belonged.

And maybe it was the smile, but the girls, with Blondie – Meat Loaf – in their middle like a queen seemed to take a shine to me as instantly as Cliff and Prince had. I met the twins AC and DC, a very heavily pierced girl called Iron Maiden, the very candy-coloured Pink Floyd (though her clothes were rather – dare I say it? – cool, despite their colour) and so on and so forth. I barely registered Gazza and Big Macca talk, lost in leather skirts and chain necklaces and such things more. Finally I blurted out: "Where did you get all this great stuff? You look fantastic!"

Meat, who had sauntered over to the door to the station – the Heartbreak Hotel – answered, her face smug. "We find it! We're scavengers!" And then she shocked me, as she got an excited glimmer in her eyes.

Uh-oh...

"Fancy a makeover?" A _what_? Oh, nonononon... "You're a Bohemian now!"

"Well..." if you put it like _that_...

She obviously wouldn't take 'no' for an answer as she plunged into suggestions right away, giving me a once-over while she fired them at me.

"How about some tight jeans?"

Her abruptness made me answer without thinking.

"Oh, I hate my bum" I was mortified – I mean, I _did_ hate my bum, but to blurt it out like that...

Meat didn't miss a beat, next idea already in line.

"A short skirt?"

Now I was feeling protective of myself as well as embarrassed. And well, since I started anyway...

"Hate my legs"

"A Crop top?"

Still feeling self-conscious, I decided to just get this over with.

"Hate my stomach, hate my hips. I quite like my arms –"

Another Idea sparked, and Meat tried to interrupt, but I continued: "But not my hands!"

That got her thinking for a minute, then a grin spread over her face as she teased "So you need something that accentuates your elbows!" Which was met by roaring laughter all around, a fact that made me realize only now that everyone had been listening. Gazza, who sat on a tin barrel, seemed somewhat sad, whereas Big Macca was livid.

"Girls! Please! I am talking to The Man here!"

Drama Queen.

And since when did he hold Gazza in such high regards?

Meat scoffed good-naturedly. "Makes a big difference from talking out your bum then, eh?" Again the Bohemians exploded with laughter while Drama Queen spluttered with indignation. The blonde turned back to me, shoving me towards a door that a guy with a wild black mane and a black stripe across the bridge of his nose opened. "Go on, Hen, I've got loads of stuff back there, just have a laugh!"

"Oh, but you lot is having the laugh," I tried to protest, but she simply shoved me in and the door closed behind me.

I looked around, hearing, muffled by the door, Big Macca telling Gazza something about some king named 'Pelvis' (okay, point one: I would kill my parents for naming me _that_ if I were him, point two: really, Macca, do you _have_ to fill his head with even _more_ stuff?) and stared.

Not a single scrap of pastel plastic anywhere to be seen.

I was in paradise.

I stood in a hallway, the walls clustered with what I took to be posters –colourful big papers with pictures and names on them. There was a map of Planet mall pinned to the wall, with a few pins stuck in it here and there (maybe these were other rebel bases, Brit had talked of others), one of them pinned into place over what used to be a city called Ashford, down in the Southeast of what once was called The United Kingdom. There was a small piece of cloth tied pinned to it, too, bearing the words "Heartbreak Hotel". Content to know where I was, I turned and skimmed over the walls, taking in the solideness of the place. I even found a poster showing a big, winged creature perched on a skyscraper being assaulted by a motorcycle (yeah, it made no sense at all) with the words "Meat Loaf" printed atop in bold red capital letters. It stuck to a door which I took to be – well, Meat Loaf's room. But I also found a door slightly ajar that sported the sign "clothes". Which I thought about for a while until I finally came to the conclusion that, since such clothes were are, they belonged to no-one and they mixed and matched. Plus, they needed clothes to dress newcomers – unless every rebel they found were as resourceful as Gazza and me (I still wondered how Gazza got his clothes) they would have to deal with Gaga-clothes otherwise.

Just the thought made me shiver.

I slowly opened the door to find piles and rows of clothes scattered around the room. I looked through them, finding a lacy top that would nicely accentuate my arms, but was – as was the nature of lace – very see-through, so I rummaged for something to wear over it. Most tops were rather skimpy.

And then I saw it.

A corset in dark red and black lace. It was longer that the one Meat wore, but then, she had a glorious body, one which the short bodice she wore showcased nicely, while this one would cover my hips and stomach, shaping them a little, too. It was a little more low-cut than I would have liked, but I loved it.

Sadly, it seemed impossible to find a long skirt anywhere in the mix. So I picked the longest I could find that matched the corset - red leather and chains – and picked some leather bracelets to hide my wrists. Like that my hands actually were not that bad... I also found a leather collar with a ring hanging down the front. I turned to leave the room when I saw some leather bootees the same colour as my skirt.

I looked down at my trusty, heavy army boots.

They were really, really sturdy and I went through hell to get them.

But they were also pretty heavy, and running around in them too long was also hell.

Plus, who would I need to defend my toes against, now that I was gone from Gaga-land?

Right.

I pulled off my army boots and stuffed my slightly aching feet into the wonderfully soft bootees and left the chamber. It still felt like leaving behind an old companion, but the lightness of feet was pure bliss. Across the 'clothes' room were two doors that sported a plaque, one with a woman, one with a man, and I felt slightly relieved. I had needed to pee.

Plus, as I found out, the bathroom was also the place where the girls stocked the make-up. A quick look in the mirror showed me that I needed to re-do it, anyway, so I quickly washed myself and re-applied shadow and eye-liner before braving myself to step out.

As I reached the door to the outside I heard Meat sing.

Nothing like anything I ever heard.

It was soft, slow, sad.

Loathe to interrupt by appearing, I slowly slid down, back to the door, and leaned my head against it just to listen.

She sang of someone lost, and how to cope with it. That life goes on. Wondering what how the one lost would do in your stead. And from then, as the Bohemians slowly joined in, the song, though still soft and slow, became more confident, hopeful. Instead of mourning the loss, it celebrated the life of him.

The last verses caught my attention, and seeped into my mind.

And now the party must be over  
I guess we'll never understand  
The sense of your leaving  
Was it the way it was planned?

And so we grace another table  
And raise our glasses one more time  
There's a face at the window  
And I ain't never, never saying goodbye

One by one  
Only the good die young  
They're only flying too close to the sun

Crying for nothing  
Crying for no one  
No one but you...

The silence that followed the last lingering note was deafening, until, of course, Big Macca broke it.

Who else?

"Let's not get heavy about it, Aye?"

It wasn't until he said that that I realized that I had tears running down my cheeks. Quickly I wiped them away – the fact that I was not yet sniffling proof that I had not cried long, short enough to leave no evidence once I wiped them. Outside, Big Macca continued. "It's not what the rock gods would have wanted!"

Gazza seemed to read my thoughts, for once.

"H-How do _you_ know?"

If the following short silence was anything to go by, Macca had not expected to be asked that.

But then he answered anyway, and I decided to step in before he fed Gazza anymore nonsense.

Instinct, my ass!

I opened the door and stepped out.

* * *

_At first I wanted to modify the scenes at the Heartbreak Hotel into several days that they spend there, to get to know the Bohemians (and each other) better and to learn more about music and the like, but then I realized that with the chips and the conversations they have that that would make no sense. At all. So I went with it the way it was. I only will have to figure out how to get them something to eat, or Scaramouche will never stop being grumpy..._

_Okay, I changed something. I needed Scaramouche to know where they are so that she can figure out how to get to the Seven Seas later on. There has to be _some_ logic, after all. So here's the improved version._

For all who care: Not mine.


	5. 5: Home

_Dedicated to Ayla. Beloved Guardian and Comfort, Precious above all others. Rest in Peace. _

* * *

HOME

_Let's not get heavy about it, Aye? It's not what the Rock gods would have wanted!"_

_Gazza seemed to read my thoughts for once._

"_H-How do _you_ know?_

_If the following short silence was anything to go by, Macca had not expected to be asked that._

_But then he answered anyway, and I decided to step in before he fed Gazza any more nonsense._

Instinct_, my ass!_

_I opened the door and stepped out._

My "Tada-a!" drew the attention to me in a heartbeat, and feeling self-conscious again, I let it fade in a defensive "Tada-alright, don't laugh!"

I was never prepared for the outburst I met then.

There was a great deal of whooping and cat-calls and cheering. Prince's "Check out the Babe!"-boom cut through it all, and when I tried to get him to shut up, Cliff chimed in with a compliment I didn't quite hear over the din but ended with "-licious", making me think he made it up somewhere along the way. I tried to brush off that as well, but now the compliments rained down, and somehow I felt happy, despite the burning in my face.

Especially since Gazza, the boy who never shut up, seemed to be at a loss for words.

Until Meat Loaf's statement that I looked "Totally Rock 'n' Roll!" seemed to sum up what everyone had wanted to express and they calmed down, giving Gazza the opportunity to gather his wits (rather than staring at me and trying to listen to everyone and drinking everything in, all at the same time, occupying his mind quite nicely) so that he was able to form a coherent sentence. "They're right, Scaramouche! You _do_ look totally Rock 'n' Roll!"

Which, for some reason, meant more to me than all the comments tumbling over each other to show their appreciation.

That is, until his grin faded and he asked, somewhat sheepishly: "What _is_ Rock 'n' Roll?"

Maybe, Gazza, someone should teach you to stop using words you don't quite understand.

But the exasperated look on Big Macca's face reconciliated me. It was just too funny to look at to stay angry at Gazza, for it was he that brought it forth.

Plus, I was nearly as curious as he.

"Ugh – What is Rock 'n' Roll? WHAT IS ROCK 'N' ROLL?" Macca worked himself up real good, and Brit stepped in – I was not so sure if he did it to stop Drama Queen from exploding or from throttling 'The Man' – and tried to explain.

"Gazza, Baby" (Baby? Oh, blast, mental pictures... _bad_ mental pictures...) "Rock 'n' Roll is everything you _want_ it to be!" His affectionate hit to the shoulder made Gazza stumble, while the Bohemians chimed in with suggestions:

"It's sex!" (Cliff running his hands up his thighs)

"It's style!" (Prince. Of all people to say it, it had to be Prince with his pointy, golden glittery corsage-thingy...)

"It's rebellion!" (I never took Bob to be the shouting type – well, that shows, huh?)

"It's freedom!" (That was Cliff again, doing a little dance)

Gazza grinned like a fool again, but for once was not deterred. Reading my thoughts again, he asked the question that was flirring around in my head: "B-but what actually _is_ it?"

His words sent a dead silence over the group, as everyone was contemplating the question. Macca opened his mouth to answer, and you could _hear_ the gears rattling in his head as he thought about it again and finally admitted: "We don't know."

Gazza looked disappointed, the Bohemians dejected and I wondered what it meant that they had complimented me with something they didn't know the meaning of. Somehow that thought must have registered on my face, because Meat reached out and patted my shoulder.

Macca tried to compensate for his admission by telling what they _did_ know. That Rock 'n' Roll died. (And that makes it better? Geez!) And that someday a man would arrive who carried the past within.

A man who could remember.

Suddenly, the faces of the Bohemians were hopeful again as they flocked around Gazza while Macca continued to explain that somewhere hidden on Planet Mall were Instruments.

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the thought of a real musical Instrument, my fingers aching with a sudden strange want.

But this was Gazza's party, Gazza's quest.  
Macca's still slightly careful "If Britney is right, you are the man that can find them!" seemed ridiculous to me.  
Because Gazza was, without a doubt, The Dreamer. The Man who could remember. And I knew it, for he breathed music, carried it with him like a fatal disease. If anyone was able to restore Music to its former glory, it was him.

"Me?" Suddenly, Gazza seemed reluctant. He who had blabbed on and on about a special destiny somewhere in store for him had it spread out before hum and feared to grab it.

"But I-I-I don't even know what they look like," he protested weakly.

That seemed to put the Bohemians in a stump, until Brit's rich baritone proudly exclaimed: "I do!"  
He pulled something forward that was basically a box with a broomstick sticking out, connected by a free-hanging wire. "I've been working on this for MONTHS!"  
To be honest, I didn't see the difficulty, but then again, I never tried, now, did I? Maybe there was something to hat contraption I was not aware of? My string of thought was severed by Brit's somewhat sheepish admission that he "Can't play it, though." For a moment I was disappointed, but then he shoved the thing into the waiting arms of the Black-Stripe-Guy that had held the door open for me earlier, and grinned. "Fortunately, Lulu can!"

Black-Stripe-Guy – Lulu (what a girlish name!) – pressed the wire down onto the broomstick and plucked at it.

And suddenly there was sound.

Not music, not what Gazza made happen in your head sometimes, but sound. Sound that could _become_ music if you let it mature a bit, nourishing it.

"LULU! You're the man," Prince screamed enthusiastically from somewhere in the crowd now obviously getting ready for a feast. Suddenly there was food being carried out, and drinks appeared, while Brit took Gazza, throwing his arm around his shoulders, talking to him like a benevolent older brother. "Once you get that – 'vibe'," (whatever that was, exactly), "all you need is your Baby!"

Loud whoops from the bohemians near enough to hear him, and then from those further away just for the heck of it. And all the while Lulu plucked away, altering the note by lowering or raising the finger that pressed the string to the stick. I sat down at the edge of the platform, studying his movements. Who knew...? I only listened to the conversation with half an ear.

"You see, Galileo", Brit continued (and for a moment I was actually puzzled about who it was he was talking to, until I saw Gazza look at him with his mouth hanging slightly open) "what passes for Music these days was only created for money, which is why it has no _soul_." More agreeing whoops from the Bohemians "But when Rock 'n' Roll started, you know why they did it?"

Gazza was at a loss. "W-w-why?"

Brit smirked and slapped Meat's ass in an affectionate way. "They did it for their _babies_, of course! They did it for a crazy little thing called love!"

And the party started.

Cliff and Prince sat next to me, holding a bucket and tins, hitting around on them, some people got other stuff, like some plastic cups with pebbles in them that rattled in time to the rhythm, others just started wolfing down something to eat (AC was nice enough to bring me something), and yet the whole din turned into music somehow.

And then Brit started singing, as if he was telling Gazza a story, until Meat chimed in, drawing Brits attention to her by swinging her hips and pushing him with them so hard he stumbled. But he recovered, turned to her, and then they sang "Crazy little thing called love" together, while I joined Cliff in his hitting the bucket. It was fun.

Gazza stood nearby, trying to get in everything at once. Failing, of course, and looking fairly stupid in doing so.

And then Prince gave me a shove, jutted his chin in Gazza's direction and told me to go dance.

Meat lead the second verse and it became obvious that the Bohemians had been singing that particular song very often, for the other Bohemians joined her in a kind of echo.

_This thing (this thing)_  
_Called love (called love)_  
_It cries (like a baby)_  
_In a cradle all night_

Dancing was awkward.

I tried to copy the movements of other dancers around me (Madonna and Bob were a sight to see), but I felt self-conscious, especially next to Meat, who moved like she danced so her entire life, and Brit, who moved behind her like they were one mind in two bodies. He continued singing when she stopped, and as he sang "It jives", he leaned over to me and poked me in the ribs with a conspiratorial wink. Which made me flinch and draw back, so that Lulu and his box were between Brit and me. I heard the next phrase from Brit – "It shakes all over like a jellyfish" - and decided that Love seems to be a rather strange thing and was to be avoided. (I hate jellyfish, I really do. They give me the creeps).

But I continued to try to dance.

I failed abysmally. I was unable to let go. Unable to just let the music carry me away.

But then Gazza was behind me, his hands on my hips, and suddenly it was _easy._ A tingle spread from where his hands were, his warmth seeped into me, and with it the music. It was the same song, but he seemed to magnify the effect somehow, and I was washed away. I registered the other Bohemians dancing in a wonderful mess, and finally felt whole.

With Gazza behind me, surrounded by music and rebels, I was home.

I never felt better in my whole life.

Gazza grabbed my hand and swirled me out of his arms, like I had seen Bob do with Madonna, and the spin made me laugh – but then there was a pause in the music and reality came rushing.

The insecurities were back, and I chanced an unsure glance at Gazza, who smiled and moved a bit (His dancing _definitely _had improved). I looked around, the music started up again, and then I realized that it didn't matter how foolish I might look – (Gee, that Leather-Charlotte girl was even more stiff than me – although than could have been caused by her clothes, of course - and Macca actually managed to look nearly as foolish as Gazza did at the car dump), so I simply – moved, even though the music was down to its original level now that Gazza was a few feet away. I even managed to catch the words Brit and Meat were singing.

"I gotta be cool, relax, get hip  
And get on my tracks  
Take a back seat,"

"Hitchhike" (that was Meat)

"And take a long ride on my motorbike" (Brit took over again)  
"Until I'm ready"

"Crazy little thing called love" (Everyone)

There was a pause in the singing, but not in the music, and everyone was simply dancing.

Brit and Meat came over to dance with us a bit (well, it was more Meat dancing around Gazza and Brit having a watchful _*coughjealouscogh*_ eye on them), until suddenly all that was left of the music was a ghost and a rhythm of snapped fingers as all eyes turned to Gazza and me, waiting.

After nervously licking his lips, Gazza silently started: "I gotta be cool" then, gaining confidence (and volume) as he sang: "relax, get hip, and get on my tracks!"

I couldn't stand back, so I tried Meats Hip-push (successfully) and took over: "Take a back seat!"

Gazza grinned "Hitchhike" and indicated for me to continue, which I did.

"And take a long ride on my motorbike"

Back to back we sang together: "Until I'm ready!"

And then Brit took one shoulder of each and turned us around so we faced each other and him: "Crazy little thing called love"

It felt like we somehow had participated in an initiation without knowing it, but passed. The dance resumed, suddenly a formation while still keeping its wild disorder, and the steps seemed to fill my mind. Only as I danced beside Prince and Cliff did I realize that the physical music had stopped when Gazza and I sang. Now it was like Gazza's music – it simply _was_.

And everyone heard it and sang together.

_"This thing called love I just can't handle it_  
_This thing called love I must get round to it_  
_I ain't ready"_

Gazza claimed me back, grinning like a fool while he sang, and I am afraid I did not look any better. His eyes only left mine when he spun me around, and I felt a blush creep up that had nothing to do with exhaustion. We repeated "Crazy little thing called love" over and over again, until the music came to a close and Brit let out a satisfied "Oh yeah!"

And in the silence the triumphant voice sounded like a doomsday bell – A voice I had hoped to never hear again:

"'Oh yeah' indeed!"

With just three words my Home was destroyed.

Again.

* * *

_And another chapter. Happy International Day of Rock, everyone. Especially to those who follow my story. I feel deeply honoured. The reviews always make my day. I don't say this to pressure anyone into reviewing, but simply to show that the reviews are duly noted and appreciated._


	6. 6: Who'd have thought?

WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT?

_In the silence the triumphant voice sounded like a doomsday bell – A voice I had hoped to never hear again:_

"'_Oh yeah' indeed!"_

_With just three words my Home was destroyed._

_Again._

"Finally I'm checking in to the Heartbreak Hotel!"

Commander Kashoggi appeared on top of the old subway station, smug as anything.

I _so_ wanted to wipe that smirk off his face – preferably with one of these old-fashioned weapons (I believe they were called mace), but sadly he had brought his cronies along. They rounded us up, as if we were cattle (poultry would have been able to fly away, darn it!). The disgusted tone in which Commander piglet said the name of what had, even in this short time, felt like Home to me made my blood boil. Even more so as I saw some policemen push little Madonna into a wall, separate AC and DC and man-hand... _boy_-handle Gazza.

I hit the one that did that in the guts and drew Gazza to me, clinging to his hand. I would _not_ leave him alone _ever_ again. He got into too much trouble, and he seemed to be unable to quite get himself out of it again.

After much struggle (the policemen had quite a problem handling Cliff and Prince – they seemed a bit freaked out at the sight of them clinging to each other) the police had us up against the walls of the station. One of them gripped Big Macca's hair and ripped it back until he looked Kashoggi in the eyes.

Now, I might not be the nicest girl in existence (though I doubt those Gaga-Girls can hold a candle even to me), but as I now found out I hate it when somebody hurts or mocks people I like. I felt Gazza and Iron Maiden hold me back as I let out a low growl. I had to listen to Piglet.

"And so, Mister McCartney (how the hell did he _know_ that name?) I've said hello and you say – _goodbye_!"

With that the policemen advanced on us again, and all seemed lost. They took Bob, who as a poet was not much of a fighter, Madonna, who was still dizzy from when her head hit the wall, AC and DC who were at a loss without each other. But just when I started a Tug-of-War about Gazza (Two Policemen against one woman. Talk about unfair. And Gazza did not even seem to appreciate it, the ingrate!), Brit lost his temper.

His war cry "You'll never get The Dreamer while I'm alive!" sent things into a frenzy. He alone took on five or so policemen. I did not get a clear view, because Prince and Cliff clobbered the policemen on our side over the head while Iron Maiden and Aretha held some others off. Meat pushed us away, whispering instructions on how to get to a secret hideout (a van), which I tried to keep in mind. Gazza, who was once again trying to take everything in at once – and who was trying to get away to join the fight, the fool – would not be of any use whatsoever. Meat distracted the last of the policemen and we were gone – although I had to pinch Gazza to get him to focus on running _away_.

Then a scream echoed along the old rails, agonized and ending frightfully abrupt.

A rich Baritone, followed by a high-pitched, wailing shriek.

Gazza stopped dead in his tracks.

"Britney…" his voice was a hoarse whisper, and I felt the tears threaten.

I never cried before.

I had been beaten and mocked by everyone, looked down upon, cast out by my family, but never had I felt sorrow like this.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, took a deep breath and grabbed his hand tighter.

"We must leave."

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

"But…"

"Gazza, we have to _leave_! NOW!

I could feel his eyes on the back of my head as I dragged him behind me, counting turns and crossings. They were bewildered, hurt and without doubt he thought of me as an unfeeling monster.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

Like a mantra the words repeated in my head.

After what seemed like an eternity of running in sullen silence, my legs gave way. Only the fact that I still held Gazza's hand stopped me from falling flat on my face.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

"Scaramouche?"

All of a sudden Gazza was the attentive worrywart again, although he, too, was breathing hard and staggering a bit. I held up a hand and tried to catch my breath enough to answer him when I saw a dark hole a little way ahead. I nodded towards it and dragged myself back to my feet.

"In there."

It was an old passageway. The entrance was half blocked with rubble, which made it nicely hidden, and as I counted back, I found that it actually was part of the escape route and more than halfway to the secret hideout. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Which was regrettably short lived, for suddenly the tunnel on the other side of the rubble was filled with light and noise. Scared again I looked at Gazza. As I met his eyes the fear in them told me that he finally registered the fact that it was _him_ they were after for the main part. I was just a bonus.

We willed our feet to run again, side by side this time.

Running, I found, was much easier without holding hands.

I don't quite know how long we ran, or how far exactly until the blaring alarms and shouts died down. Only that I finally spotted the escape route Meat had spoken about, and pointed it out to Gazza, who was a bit faster than me and climbed to the surface first.

That was when I heard the shouts coming closer again.

I pulled every last ounce of strength and pulled myself up the ladder while Gazza knelt above me, chanting "Hurry, hurry, hurry…" and then "Give me your hand!" and pulled me out. We closed the trapdoor just as the first torchlight swept through the tunnel beneath. I sealed the door shut with the bolt and listened anxiously as a policeman climbed up the ladder, tried the trap door – and finally shouted "This one's locked. Onwards!"

I collapsed next to Gazza and for a while we just lay there, side by side, panting.

Suddenly, Gazza sat up.

At once I was on my feet again, looking for the danger – and found nothing. Well, there was the van Meat had mentioned (a rusty blue thing with broken windows and the left side mostly ripped open, only covered by rugs like a curtain), but there was no danger. The fact that there were plants growing all over the place made it quite safe, since no-one would be able to spot us from above.

I looked inquiringly at Gazza, whose eyes were confused, scared, and angry.

"_How_ did Kashoggi find the Heartbreak Hotel?"

Okay, time to get rational again. Think, Scaramouche, think… "He must have some way of tracking us!"

Well, paranoia works, too.

But the theory seemed quite plausible.

Now, what way could he have? How could Kashoggi…

"The Hospital." For once, Gazza was faster than me. It could be because of the fact that I tried all kinds of complex theories before reaching the simple ones. Gazza jumped up. "When they operated on our heads!"

"Heads!" I beckoned him to me, and searched the back of his head while he searched mine. His hair was so – no sidetracking! Geez!

He found it first.

It was a strange feeling – the foreign object that I hadn't really noticed until now seemed so obvious all of a sudden under Gazza's searching fingers, as well as the scab that covered it.

He turned me around and swept my hair over my shoulderto have a clearer look.

"I think I found something!"

"Well, cut it out!" I looked around to find something sharp, but Gazza grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face him, looking aghast. "What?"

It was quite cute that he didn't want to hurt me, but also pretty useless in that situation. Why did he _have_ to be so dreadfully impractical? I shrugged him off, continuing my search, while trying to explain. "Gazza, if there are bugs in our heads, the police will track us down in _hours_!" Or less. Finally I found a glass shard in the broken rear window of the van and held it out to Gazza. "Cut it out!"

He seemed reluctant, looked between the shard and me, to, fro, to, fro, until I shot him a look that made him grab the shard so fast he almost cut himself. It was a good thing I learned to hide my feelings – I hate pain, and if I showed hesitation, Gazza would not do it. I squared my shoulders as I felt his fingers sweep aside my hair.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

An involuntary gasp still made it out as the shard cut down into my neck and Gazza ripped the bug out. His hesitation vanished into indignant anger at the sight of it.

"He's had us from the start! He's heard _everything_!"

That explained how he knew Macca's name.  
And this was proof that without any doubt, Gazza's and my escape from the hospital had been anticipated – wanted, even.  
Well, at least I didn't say anything _too_ embarrassing. Still, it bugged me (Pun intended). Who did that pig think he was? I bowed down over the bloodied device in Gazza's hand. "Hello?" I felt Gazza's shock at my sickly sweet voice, but proceeded. "Pervert!" Gazza snorted a bit "This is a short sentence, and the second word is _off_!" The last word was a hardly concealed threat, and made Gazza look a bit shocked for a complete different reason. He seemed confused as well, but I did not quite know if that was due to me bringing back the bite or because he did not get the meaning of my words. I took the bug and the shard from him, which brought him back to his senses. He went down on all fours. "Quick, now me!" I lowered the shard and heard him whimper before I even did anything. As the shard finally connected, he grunted and winced like a little kid, until he finally held his breath. I ripped out the bug and he collapsed while I looked the devices over.

Baby.

He coughed. "Quick, crush them!"

Okay, now he lost his mind.

"A couple of 'state of the art' micro-transceivers? No _way_!" I mean, who knew what they could be good for! Absentminded, I continued speaking while I looked closer at the devices to find the right switch. "I'll just activate the maximum negativity spectrum…" Found it…

"_What_?"

Geez, Gazza, really – do you know _anything_?

"Turn them off!" I did so and, still intrigued, studied the transceivers further, then stowed them away as the light dimmed so I could examine them further in the morning. I ripped off a part of the curtain to wipe away the blood that dribbled down my neck, then leaned against the side of the van and looked at the setting sun, just resting for a while and trying to ease the guilt I felt.

The Bohemians were gone.

And it was all because of us.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

Gazza's voice was so soft I almost missed him starting to speak.

"We're… all that's left, Scaramouche."

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

"The Bohemians are finished!"

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

"The Heartbreak Hotel destroyed! Only we escaped!"

Escaped? Yes, we probably did, but the sacrifice this escape had cost tore at my soul.

Only the good die young… Meat's voice echoed through my brain and I wondered how _she_ felt at the irony when it was enough to make the tears threaten again for _me_.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

I had Gazza to think about. He was probably as close to breaking point as I was.

I felt like I had to give credit where credit was due. "Britney Spears died to save us…"

He did so much for us; he deserved to be remembered for it. I still heard his war cry, and corrected myself. "To save you."

Because this was, as I said, Gazza's quest, not mine.

I was just – there.

_He_ was important.

And somehow, he was different now. It seemed that tight spots brought forth his more decisive part. His gaze was focused, determined, his posture upright and proud as he vowed that Brit would not have died in vain.

What he said after that quite frankly took my breath away.

"It's up to _us_ now!"

Us!

And he said it as if there never had been a question about it.

I can't cry, I can't cry, I can't cry…

But this time, the tears threatened for a different reason altogether.

Gazza seemed to take my silence differently. His voice grew hesitant again.

We're part of the underworld, Scaramouche." Who knew I would come to love that silly name so much? "You and me, cast adrift." He shrugged out of his leather jacket (now a bit rugged and dusty), pushed aside the rug curtains and sat down on the mattress that appeared behind it. "There's no turning back now," he continued, "not ever!"

He looked so lost again, so small and heartbroken.

I tried to lighten the mood. "We never belonged, anyway," I reminded him, twiddling with the bloodied rag.

At least I got a snort that sounded almost amused. Geez, he made me miss the eager puppy like that! Then something occurred to me. "Did you notice?" He looked up, and there was a curious spark in his eyes. "You lost your st-stutter!"

He smiled.

It was a softer smile than his usual grin, and it did funny things to my brain. Such as repeating the phrase of my first-ever song over and over again: 'Can anybody find me somebody to love?' Shaking my head to get rid of the phrase (unsuccessfully, now I knew how Gazza felt) I offered the bloodied rag to occupy him and turn that smile away, and he took it, absentmindedly wiping at the blood on his neck and hands while pondering. "Well, I _feel_ different," was what he finally came up with, his satisfied, slightly goofy grin almost the grin of his usual self, only that now it seemed do much – more. It made me feel slightly dizzy. I sat down next to him, afraid my knees would give up on me. I guess they had yet to fully recover from all the running – or at least that's what I told myself. Something in the back of my head called me a chicken for it. Trying to cover, I smiled, a bit nervous. "We're both different." What came out then surprised me, for I never noticed until I said it out loud: "For the first time I don't hate myself."

Astounding.

The fact that I had just admitted that I had hated myself as well as the fact that I no longer did. When I was with Gazza, I felt – dare I say it – good.

The fact that I had been accepted enthusiastically by the Bohemians had worked wonders, too.

Warmth spread through me.

"And," Gazza let out a low chuckle, looking happy and surprised at the same time, "I don't want to die!"

And I thought I had problems.

Then the realization hit me – _he could be dead_ – and for a moment ice-cold dread settled over me.

Gazza didn't even notice as he continued. "I found something to live for!"

The warmth was back, and for a moment I dared to – but I beat down that treacherous feeling of hope, years of mocking and hating myself crashing down on me at once. I was not that girl. I was the one that took home her broken heart and nothing else. Happy endings were for happy girls, and that was one thing I had never quite managed.

But Gazza was here, and he seemed to wait for me to speak as I waited for him to elaborate.

I gave in first.

"The dream?"

That was the only plausible reason I was able to come up with, and the sad, slightly disappointed look in his eyes told me it was the wrong one.

His soft correction left me speechless.

"You!" He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and something inside me melted. We stared at each other for a while, until we both realized what had just happened and looked back at the setting sun.

This time it was Gazza who spoke first.

"But – we will be caught in the end. You know that, don't you?"

I was a little surprised that he was able to have so clear a picture of the future, but then again, this was Gazza I was talking to. He tended to surprise.

I sighed. "Yeah, I know." And, because I was being me, I added, for good measure: "And probably killed…"

Now if only I could erase that stupid happy grin…

The thought of Gazza dead took care of that quite nicely.

Did I mention that Gazza was one for surprises? And that his new personality trait was being decisive?

Well, what he decided to do next was pretty much the biggest surprise I ever got in my life.

He. Said. He. Loves. Me!

_Me_!

The sudden rush of joy made my head spin, and I finally dared to name the emotions that had made my legs wobbly and my stomach acting funny.

"I love you, too," for a moment I fought myself, "Gaz!"

I chanced a glance at him and was met with a resigned, slightly annoyed and sullen expression and a serious: "Do you think maybe perhaps just _once_ you could use my full name?"

Hell no!

But the tension was broken, and I felt my mischievous self again

"I love you, too," I repeated, looking him gravely in the eyes and then stubbed his nose with an impish grin, "Gazza Fizza!"

He should have been content with Gaz.

The look on his face was priceless, though, hope morphing to indignation changing into resignation shifting to acceptance and finally a gleeful chuckle escaped. I felt a blush rising in my face and looked away, strangely bashful.

This was just who I am. And he was happy about it. The warmth spread down into toes and fingers, filling me entirely.

"And – if I have your love – dying doesn't matter much at all," he said, still smiling.

There was that word again. I was cold once more, pictures storming my mind unbidden. The playfulness mood I was in turned solemn, grave, and I slumped the tiniest bit as I felt the smile leave my face together with the blush.

"Does it?" Gazza's voice was soft, worried, anxious. I wanted to reassure him, somehow, tell him that everything was going to be alright, that _I_ was alright, but at the same time I couldn't bear to lie to him right now.

The words came to me in a soft whisper, and somehow they felt like they were _mine_. Not flowing through Gazza and overwhelming me, but coming from deep within, wanting out. I let them.

I wasn't even surprised when they came out as a song.

"There's no time for us." The words were barely above a murmur. I kept my eyes strictly turned away from Gaz, who looked at me, slightly amazed, and then at the ground, looking to be deep in thought. "There's no place for us…" Always on the move, fleeing from the police, and before that, from ourselves, if he was anything like me.

"What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?" Home, Security… Love. Vanishing like the setting sun, but without the reassurance that it would come back. Slipping away like Life.

Oh, hell.

"Who wants to live forever?" It was not exactly an answer, or very reassuring for that matter, but it seemed enough for Gaz, whose voice suddenly joined mine as I repeated the phrase, his soft, mine growing slightly desperate.

It is a strange trait that just at the moment your life threatens to run out you realize how precious it is.

With another wondering "Who?", I somehow knew that now it was Gazza's turn.

As expected, the music grew stronger, but strangely enough it didn't burst as on similar occasions before, or sweep us away. This time we played the music instead of the other way round.

It was soothing and left me wanting at the same time.

Lost in thought and feeling, I listened to Gaz.

"There's no chance for us…" I liked his voice when he was singing on top of his lungs, but this soft almost-whisper sent shivers down my spine.

"It's all decided for us!" He sounded so sad. So desperate. I felt the sudden urge to touch him, soothe him, and sat down on my hands to still them. That just wouldn't do. I don't hug people. I just don't.

"This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us…" I sighed. That was gloomy.

"Who wants to live forever?"

How he managed to sing the same phrase as me and made it sound so much different was astonishing. There was an urgency in his words that made the strange, empty feeling intensify, but at the same time the thought that nothing was forever was oddly comforting. And if there was to be only _one_ sweet moment in this life, at least mine was going to be with Gaz. This time it was me that joined him in the repetition of the phrase, easing up a bit, no longer sitting on my hands, when we proceeded asking who dared to _love_ forever. I could almost _feel_ Gazza's desperation as he burst out: "when love must die!"

The graveness and worry from before mixed with the strange hollowness and the affection I held for Gaz, confusing me.

Until I repositioned my hands and felt skin and bones under my left one, somehow rendering me incapable of feeling anything else. I jolted and looked down at my hand, only to find that it covered Gazza's. The empty feeling in me had gone the instant I touched him.

I looked up at him, into dark green eyes as full of surprise as mine probably were.

Only that they battled down the fear considerably faster, the surprise melting into fondness and worry and whatever else before Gaz carefully trained his eyes on our joined hands and covered them with his free one.

I jumped up, self-conscious.

Not so much because I was still insecure, but because I was feeling just the tiniest bit shy and completely confused.

I was not the kind of girl that was overly fond of hugs.

Not even twenty-four hours ago I had flinched and edged away whenever someone tried to touch me – even Gaz.

But now I wanted his touch.

Needed it, almost.

I had never been so scared in all my life.

Breathing deeply, I ran my hands through my hair, pulling at a strand or two that had gone awry, then turned around to Gaz, keeping a steadying hand around the still-intact door-beam of the van. I never felt the edges cutting into my palm.

Gaz held a careful distance, standing now as well, looking concerned, a little hurt and utterly sincere.

Suddenly my fears about being hurt seemed so ridiculous, and they were being overruled by the aching emptiness that had risen again.

Shyly looking down, I took a deliberate step into his direction.

And another.

And another.

Until I was standing right in front of him, and placed my hands on his chest.

Only then did I raise my eyes back to his.

It felt like coming home.

A tear rolled down my face, despite the fact that I felt happy enough to melt.

Reaching up to caress his cheek, I sang again, fully aware this time of what would come out. "But touch my tears with your lips..." Gaz closed his eyes as his hand came up to press mine to his face, his expression like that of a parched man feeling the rain on his face.

His other hand went to my waist, drawing me nearer as he sang. "Touch my world with your fingertips..."

No way.

Fingertips were much too little contact.

He seemed to have the same thought, for his hands covered my shoulders and he ran them down my arms almost reverently. I, too, let my hands wander, caressing a surprisingly muscular chest, strong arms, defined cheekbones, while his thumbs caressing my sides made me slightly dizzy.

But not dizzy enough to stop singing that like this, we could live forever, love forever.

Gaz clutched me to him, almost crushing me in his desperate attempt to get me as close as possible. Not that I minded right now. I did the same.

"Forever is ours today," he sang, and as I burrowed my head in his chest, inhaling his scent, I felt that he was right. Tonight, at the very least, forever was ours.

When we sang the original question this time, it held a totally different meaning. Because, as I triumphantly repeated, forever was ours.

My giddy smile matched his perfectly, when Gaz pressed his forehead down against mine.

"Who waits forever," Gaz sang, almost under his breath, and as I looked into his eyes, they were darker than usual. His "anyway" was only a husky whisper that made my knees weaken again.

He carefully made me sit down on the mattress of the van, but as he straightened up, I felt, almost detached, my hands gripping his shoulders and pulling him down to me. The sudden movement made him topple over, and he crashed into me, his weight pushing me down until we both lay half in and half out of the van. It was a bit uncomfortable, but I didn't care. The last light provided me with a look of hunger on his face, one that I could find myself responding to. I raised my head a bit, and Gaz lowered his until our lips met.

I vaguely sensed him close the ragged curtain before I was swept away in something even stronger than music.

Who would have thought there was such a thing?

* * *

_Well, that's that, then. _

_I am not very good with soppy scenes, I'm afraid, and if Scara is a bit out of character - well, it felt wrong for her to be snarky in that situation. She can face Gouvernments and Idiocy and Saviours and World's end and all that jazz with snarky comments, but I felt even_ she_ would be overwhelmed by pure affection, since it was something she hungered for, as well._

_Enjoy._

_P.S.: the running is mine._


	7. 7: Crashing Down

CRASHING DOWN

I woke earlier than I thought I would. Lying next to a sleeping Gazza, with slightly sore muscles in places I didn't even know I _had_ any, I felt content as a kitten in a patch of sun.

But the thought of the police forces looking for us made me restless, so as soon as light filtered in through the plants covering the area around the van I dressed (the corsage was really cool, but dreadfully uncomfortable to sleep in, which is why I hadn't bothered to put it back on after – well, afterwards) and was up and about. There was canned food hidden in the glove compartment, along with a map that was a crude drawing of the area and a cross that marked an old-fashioned water pump. I took a canister and got some water – it tasted kind of metallic, but I was not going to complain, really – and wandered back to the van, where Gaz was still out like a light.

I felt a fond smile creep over my face at the sight of him. He had dressed again last night, it seemed, after I had fallen asleep, but as I had woken up warm, tucked under his arm, I couldn't find a fault with that right now. A stray strand of hair fell into his face, and I swept it away, fingers lingering on his cheek, tracing his brows, his nose, his lips – god, his _lips_... I drew my hand away to cool my heating face as well as to not encourage any more fantasizing. There was time for _that_ yet, when he was well-rested... plus, he looked so adorably sweet right now and I did not want to disturb him.

But a girl can only enjoy the sight of her sleeping lover for so long.

I grew restless and worried again. If the police found us, how would I be able to prevent them from hurting him, or worse? How could I protect – the penny dropped, and I felt the sudden urge to hit myself in the head for being so stupid.

The micro-transceivers!

I nestled one out from under the pillow and looked at it closely. It was small, yes, but I had seen more complicated technical devices before. Hell, I had pieced some together myself! But then again, it only made sense; after all, the police had to find new recruits among the Gaga-kids, and they were as stupid as they come. They had to be able to operate those things, and what a Gaga could operate, I could well change to suit my needs left-handed.

With a blindfold.

While standing on my head.

Which I didn't try, though, since our lives might well depend on my doing the job right, and I didn't want to play with something that was finally worth caring for.

Gee, I had gone soft.

After meticulously checking and re-checking my work, I finally switched the transceiver on. It rustled and hissed a bit at first, but after lightly tapping it with my finger, it soon worked without a hitch. I could hear screams, hissing noises and sizzling, shouting (they had no clue where we were, and seemed furious that the signal they had gotten so far was missing) and finally the hateful voice of commander piglet ordering "these creatures" (I clenched my teeth at the thought that he was talking about my _friends_ like that) to be taken to – the Seven Seas of Rhye!

The map I had found at the rebel base appeared before my inner eye. There had been all those pins and stripes of cloth... I sorted through them in my head, grateful for my good memory, and finally found a red pin labelled "Rye" next to a lake in the Euro-precinct of Planet Mall, on the southern coast of the island formerly called Great Britain. The very part of Planet Mall that I had been born and been on to this day. I traced a rough outline in the dirt, filling in the positions of the Heartbreak Hotel and the Seven Seas, went through the way I had run with Gazza and nodded smugly to myself.

I knew roughly where we were (somewhere near a place called 'Maidstone' for some reason or other – oh, the irony), so I could find that place. Satisfied, I took off my boots and snuggled up to Gazza again, breathing in his now so familiar scent.

Despite the corset I fell asleep in seconds.

And woke up again when Gazza started trashing and mumbling. I looked around – the sun was a lot higher in the sky, but there was no imminent danger as far as I could tell, so I leaned closer to Gazza to find out what he was mumbling about. I heard "mumble no way mumble, mumble" and merely got my head out of the way when he shot up in wide-eyed terror, screaming "The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

Since that was no news for me, I decided to concentrate on the fact that he was wide awake.

"Well, good _morning_, Gazza!" He didn't react, only continued breathing hard which made me remember altogether different reasons for laboured breathing, and my smile grew wilful as I trailed my fingers up his arm. "Or perhaps" I purred, "I should use your full name – Shagaleo Gigolo!"

He was a bit slow to catch on, rambling about his dream, but then again, this was Gazza. The Dreamer. Plus he always needed a moment for things to reach his brain when he was rambling.

They finally did when he turned his head and was face to face with me, only inches away. He stopped mid-sentence, looking puzzled, then flattered, and for once his wannabe-manly tone when he reassured himself that he had heard right didn't annoy me, but sent shivers down my spine. I barely had time to affirm the words when he kissed me and pressed me back down onto the mattress. I wrapped my arms around his neck – this was going to be _good_ – when he suddenly drew back. "We don't have time!" He drew me back up with him as he sat up, an urgent gleam in his eyes. "The Seven Seas of Rhye! I dreamed about Big Macca and the others..."

Oh, great.

The tingle went as fast as it had come. We were back to _dreams_ now. I huffed and cut trough Gazza's babble. "Yeah, well, there is nothing, and I mean _nothing_ more boring than people wanting to describe their dreams to you!" Even with prophetic dreams, especially when you found out about their content hours ago. _Without_ all that rambling.

Gazza seemed stumped for a minute and started to protest, but I cut him off again. "No, trust me on this!" I had gone through hell in school every morning when I had to listen to all the Gaga-Girls piping on and on about their dreams, so this was a bit of a touchy subject with me. Dreams made me upset. "Kills relationships stone dead." Mine at least. "God, the day one partner wakes up and starts to say: 'It was amazing! There was a rabbit in a bowler hat cooking an Omelette!'" (I had a fair collection of nonsensical dream stories thanks to years of airhead ambience – even Gazza looked taken aback by this particular foolishness) "That is when love dies!" I was aware that I was venting a bit, but then again, it was better to get the message across now.

Failing dismally.

"But Scaramouche, I'm sure of it!" I got that, thank you! "The Bohemians are headed across the Seven Seas of Rhye!" "I _know_!" I cut in, to no avail.

Gazza simply continued ranting.

Busying myself with the second transceiver I waited for my words to sink in while I tried to find the other reason why "Seven Seas of Rhye" sounded so awfully familiar.

Finally my words sunk trough Gazza's dream-hazed skull. "What?"

I sighed. "I know about the Seven Seas of Rhye!" Something clicked in my head as I said the name. After a particularly bad day of mocking I had hacked into the site of the police to find out what happened to people who did not fit in. I had seen a map of a lake labelled "Geneva" with seven rivers supplying it with water. I only had read a few things, about the sea-level rising and endangering the place, and something about "very strong spirit of Rock", which made a lot more sense now than it did then. I told Gazza all that, more details coming to mind as I spoke.

Satisfied with my memory and my technical prowess, I dangled my legs, grinning smugly to myself as I noted the flabbergasted expression on Gazza's face as he exclaimed that "this is incredible, Scaramouche!"

Why, thank you!

Fiddling with the transceiver, I felt my smug smile wash away with his next words.

"We've had the same dream!"

I was too stunned to correct him while he rambled on about how we were soul-mates and all that jazz, taking a moment to collect my disappointed, broken pride in my abilities.

"Gaz, I didn't have any dream!" How utterly ridiculous! Dreams were _his_ job. According to his puzzled expression, they were also the only way of gathering information he could think of. Well, welcome to _my_ world then. "Nah, I just reversed the polarity on one of Kashoggi's micro-transceivers! I've been monitoring Police Headquarters!" At the thought of how I turned one of his own devices against Commander Pervert the smug smile was back.

"Gee." Gazza sounded sullen, which made me look up. He certainly didn't look like he appreciated my efforts. "You certainly know how to make a guy feel inadequate!"

Ooh, crushed pride, was it, now?

I blushed a bit, because hidden in there _was_ a compliment. "Bless..."

Well, I could _work_ with crushed pride... Slowly trailing my fingers up his arms, I whispered: "You could let me ...make it up to you..." His heartbeat sped up, his fingers closed on my arms and I felt his rapid breath caress my lips – but then he shoved me away.

Again.

"No!" He looked flustered and almost annoyed, which stung a bit. "I have to go to the Seven Seas of Rhye!" He dug for his boots, beginning to pull them on, and I started a last manoeuvre to keep him. "Well, it's pretty dangerous! The police are _bound_ to still be looking for us! I say we just hide out here..." oh, the _possibilities_... "on this mattress..." I sank down, "for a few days..."

Gaz really was impatient now. His "NO, Scaramouche!" sounded almost like an order. I obediently got back up and grabbed my bootees to pull them on. He proceeded by explaining that he still hadn't "found what I'm looking for", which was a valid point. He was the Dreamer, after all, and if he and Brit and Macca were right, his destiny was yet to be fulfilled. I slipped into the first bootee when he continued. "I can't get no satisfaction!"

After last night that kind of – hurt.

It certainly did nothing to propitiate me, either.

Only when Gaz sputtered out some utter nonsense about pushing pineapples and shaking trees did I allow for the possibility that it could have been one of his 'phrase-phases' again and that he meant no offense.

Still – what was that about pineapples?

"Pardon?"

Shaking himself out of his phrase-induced stupor (seriously, he looked like even _he_ had no idea what he just said) Gaz quickly murmured "Nothing" and continued to lace up his army boots.

I slipped into my second Bootee when he stunned me into motionlessness again by saying that he _would be back for me_. (I really was glad, at that point, that I had forsaken the army boots in favour of the bootees. If I had had to lace up the boots, I would never have been done with it at the rate Gazza went in freezing me up).

He wanted to go _alone_.

Gazza, the guy who would probably drop into the first hole he encountered, wanted to leave me behind and run headfirst into danger _all by himself_.

"Hang on!" Better stop him, perhaps make him think... though with a head like his that probably was a futile try. "What do you mean? There'll be police _all_ over the place!" The thought about Gazza near _any_ of those pigs made nearly all my irritation vanish. The thought of Commander Pervert in triumph was almost more than I could bear. There was no way I would ever let that happen. In a sudden realization I worked out the perfect plan. "I should go, not _you_!"

Because there was no way in hell I would ever betray Gazza's location even if I was caught, and if I wasn't, then I could free the Bohemians and we could get Gaz and set the revolution rolling. Or just go back into hiding again. As long as I was with Gazza it was pretty much all the same to me (Though the thought of all the Gagas learning the error of their ways was quite tempting indeed).

Gaz did not seem to get the sheer brilliance of the plan. "Forget it, Scaramouche! This is _my_ fight."

"Excuse me?" That sounded an awful lot like he wanted to exclude me. "How'd you work that out?

He actually had the audacity to look at me like I was a bit slow. "Because I'm 'The Man'!" His face suddenly looked proud, smug and just the slightest bit arrogant. I felt myself missing the kicked puppy. "Britney Spears said so", he finished, probably knowing perfectly well that I was not going to argue with that. "Exactly!" I felt a headache coming up. He had been so much easier to handle before he got all decisive and proud (Not that it wasn't just the tiniest bit hot...). "Which is why it is stupid for you to risk your life!" Surely he had to understand at least this much? "I'm dispensable!" Sad, but true. He looked at me in such shock that I would have been flattered before, because it clearly showed that he did not think of me as anything near 'dispensable', but I had more important things to worry about.

Like how to get him to stay at the van and out of danger.

"You stay here!"

He scoffed.

"Yeah, right! Like I'm gonna let my _chick_ fight my battles for me!"

Oh, no, he didn't.

While he continued to lace up his second boot, completely oblivious, I replayed the sentence in my head, going over every word, only to reach the conclusion that Gaz had, indeed, called me his _chick_. And suggested that he was _letting_ me do something, as if I needed his permission.

That did it.

The irritation was back.

And it had brought friends.

"_Let_. Your. _CHICK_!"

I stood.

"Excuse me!" My scathing tone made him look up, and the confused expression he sported made me frown. "At what point in this relationship did you actually _take_ the arsehole-pill?"

That made him do a double-take, then he frowned.

"For God's sake, Scaramouche, does everything _always_ have to be a fight with you?" He sounded put off now. "I thought you'd said you 'mellowed out'", he continued, the last words coming out in a really annoying – mellow-y way.

"Well, I haven't", I retaliated, copying his tone. I never said _anything_ of that kind. Also, I didn't always fight. Only when people were being really stupid. Like Gaz at that moment.

It seemed like his patience had run thin.

"Well, it's really starting to irritate me!"

He was angry. Who'd have thought that Mister Kicked-and-Overeager-Puppy could look so – mean?

But he did, and he was being stupid, and I was angry and hurt. I tried to downplay it of course ("Oh, no, my heart just broke!" followed by a few faked sobs), because I really was too angry to allow myself to be vulnerable at that moment.

When Gazza grabbed my shoulders then it was not at all the tender caress from the night before, but spoke of barely-contained agitation. He even shook me lightly. "Look, you're my girlfriend!" I could tell that he fought to keep his voice even, and behind the care in his eyes flickered irritation. "I want to protect you!"

Now _that_ was rich, coming from _him_, of all people.

I wrenched myself out of his grasp.

"No!" _Let my chick, let my chick_... the words kept on repeating in my head over and over. "You think just because you – got your leg over –" downplay, that's right, so it doesn't hurt as much... "that you _own_ me or something!" I had been a fool for thinking Gazza would never hurt me. My only hope was that Gazza hadn't heard the slight break in my voice at those last words.

Apparently he hadn't, for he paced angrily, spitting that I was "such a pain with this constant female assertion – _thing_!"

Everything went downhill from there. I was hurt, and too proud to admit it, so I lashed out (Thinking about it, Gaz probably felt the same. We both had our share of pain before we met).

"Fine!" I spat back, just as venomous. "Well, at least we know now where we stand!"

"Yes, we do!"

"Which is not together! If you..." "Because..."

Realization dawned then as we both tried to drown out the other, and we fell into an awkward, terrified silence.

What had I done?

I could see the hurt in Gazza's eyes, and felt my heart break as something inside those childish, open eyes slammed shut. "Well, if _you_ say so!"

And that was it. I had, for a moment, hoped that Gaz would take it back – that he would try to preserve what we had the night before – but I would be trice damned before I begged him. Or anyone, for that matter.

"Right!" Gathering my bearings, I drew myself up to full height while Gazza already rushed over to the trapdoor we had used to get up into the clearing. "From now on, our relationship is purely professional!" Rushing over to the second trapdoor I had found marked on the map as emergency exit, I continued: "We've got a job to do (in my case, keeping Gazza out of trouble, which was a Herculean effort indeed) and we'll do it, and that's _all_!" I somehow felt that I needed these words to convince myself rather than Gazza as my eyes tightened unpleasantly and I repeated the mantra form the day before again: I can't cry, I can't cry...

I felt my emotional safeguards build up again as Gazza hissed: "Well, suits _me_! But _I_'m going to the Seven Seas!" Stubborn fool that he was! He even had the audacity to look taken aback when I told him that I intended to do the same, slamming my hand to the ground to underline every word. Then he just scoffed and turned. It felt like a defeat, somehow, and I couldn't stand it, so I ranted: "But if, when we get there, you get caught (which was bloody likely), and the dream is lost, and the kids are enslaved 'till the end of time –"

There were so many ways to finish that sentence.

Then you'll see that I was right (Only that I actually hoped things would turn out the way he wanted them to).

Then you'll get what you deserve (But did he deserve it, really?).

Grasping for words, I finally settled on: "Well, then you'll feel a bit bloody _stupid_, that's all!"

Slamming the trap door shut behind me, I descended once more into the blissful coolness of the old subway tunnels, hoping that Gazza would realize that _he_ had no specific idea of where to go to.

Only to realize that either he was too pissed off to acknowledge me and my knowing the way (on second thought, it might be because I never told him I knew...) or he was too proud of being "The Dreamer" and therefore believed that a rough notion of where to go was all he needed to get there.

Which is why he bumped right into me while trying to head straight north.

"Don't stand in my way!" His expression of righteous anger could have been quite funny had it not pissed me off as much as it did. As it was, I scoffed. "Trying to get there the long way, are you?" That puzzled him for a moment, then a haughty expression covered his features as he sneered: "What do you know about directions, then?" I sighed. "Before we went down, it was like, midday, or something. So, the sun was south, high in the sky. The Seven Seas are at the southern coast, actually almost directly south from where we are. South is _opposite_ of north. North was the direction you were just heading to. You want to get there? Follow me. You want to run around until you stumble across the place? Go ahead, be my guest. Gets you out of my hair and into police custody faster than you can say "Heartbreak Hotel." With that, I turned on my heels and marched southwards, listening to the rushing "Thu-thump" of my blood ringing in my ears with anger while my boots stomped out an angry staccato that echoed off the walls until I realized that there might still be police forces searching us down here. I treaded more carefully then, trying to drown out the fall of Gazza's feet behind me.

We continued on in heavy silence. Sometimes I would climb up to see where the sun was standing, correcting our route. My mind was stuck between being grateful for the extra protection of the tunnels (they were extended once in an attempt to make travelling between cities more comfortable in a time when summers grew longer and hotter), and the wish to be able to see the sky without all that exhausting climbing, sneaking open the trap door if it wasn't locked, checking for the sun as fast as possible, fearing all the time to be spotted by the police or a camera, then calculating how to get south best. Gazza was sullenly silent all the way, which was another thing I had mixed feelings about. It gave me peace to do calculations, it made it possible to hear if anyone was approaching, but in a way it was almost worse than fighting. Silence didn't suit Gazza. His chatter was annoying after a while, but him being silent showed how hurt he really was. Also, I could work with ceaseless chatter. With Gagas all around you for over a decade you learn to ignore chatter or you get the urge to kill yourself over embarrassment because of their stupidity at least twice a day. But this – this unaccustomed silence was impossible to ignore. When I snuck a glance at Gazza once, his face was set into a grim frown while he walked on with quick, wide strides. It was as if he tried to outrun me.

Finally, we reached a point where we had to leave the tunnels. The sun was low in the sky by then, marking the hours we had spent underground, and the air was cooler than before. The feeling of Gazza trying to outrun me increased with the width of his strides. I fought to keep up, but whenever I was able to draw level, he increased his speed.

Now, I am not weak, or slow, for that matter. I had experience in walking or running – walking around looking for stuff to use or tamper with, running from police and teachers, sneaking in and out of prohibited areas – and the bootees were really great, but finally, Gazza proved to be a man at least in levels of stamina. I fell back, and no amount of pride or stubborn mind could keep the exhaustion at bay. Especially in addition to the sore muscles from last night. The bastard responsible for those didn't even realize my stumbling feet, or if he did, he didn't care. The twit!

"Oi!" I said, and as he showed no reaction, louder: "_OI_! Will you just slow down, will you?"

He barely spared me a glance over his shoulder as he told me to keep up instead. Bastard. "I've got shorter legs than you!" No way would I ever admit to being weaker, even if it _was_ genetic. Not even slowing down, he scoffed. "Don't worry, your mouth makes up for them." It was a mumble, one I wasn't even sure I was supposed to hear, but it stopped me dead in my tracks. Of all the insolent – grinning an evil grin, I sneered: "Didn't seem to have any objections to it _last night_!"

That made him stop and stare. My grin widened as I ran my tongue over my teeth for good measure, making his jaw drop. Take that! It took him a moment to get his bearings again, but then he got angry. "_That_ was below the belt!" Oh, was it now? I crossed my arms and stared him down hard. "Which seems to be all you think women are any good for!" Good for a roll in the sack, but not good enough to help him save the world, huh? I'd show him.

"Hey!" he stormed towards me. "This isn't some – feminist achievement course we run here!" Never said it was, did I? This wasn't about women altogether; this was about me and him thinking he was better. "This is a battle as big as the _planet_!" The last words he almost screamed into my face.

Geez, he needed a reality check.

Bad.

"Nonononono, it's as big as your _ego_, more like!" If it wasn't, he would look for all the help he could get. Which, at the moment, consisted of – me. Only that he refused to see it. He uttered an angry laugh so fake that I knew I hit a nerve that he refused to see. "Me, egotistical?" His face was a livid mask of barely controlled anger as he stepped even nearer. "Let's just get records straight: _You_ are a _girl_!" Oh, really? I hardly ever noticed! "You're _slower_ than me, _weaker_ than me" I interrupted him before he could come up with more, adding with grim satisfaction: "_Cleverer_ than you..." "_What_?" Indignation turned the word into a squeak. "Just because you" he scoffed, "reversed the polarity on a couple of _micro-transceivers_?" He waved his hands in fake awe, then laughed. I didn't get the joke. Because, actually? "_Yeah_!"

I think he realized that he actually dug that hole for himself, because he needed a moment to retort. "Well, my intelligence is more _abstract_!" _Absurd_ would have been more appropriate, if there was actually any _intelligence_ to be found in that phrase-polluted head of his. "_I_ have the mind of an _artist_", he insisted, and I wondered who it was he was trying to fool. "A _piss_-artist, more like!" Blabbering out phrases he neither came up with nor understood – where was the art in that? Being proud of some gift he got, instead of something he worked hard for. What a laugh.

Touchy subject, though. Gazza's mood got even fouler. "A _Rock_-artist! And I've got a world to save", with these words he turned away and started strutting again, "so, if you hold me up..."

Now wait a minute. "Hold _you_ up?" Given that he was heading west this time, and wanted to circle the world before, this was priceless. "Now listen, _mate_!" The all-time favourite addressing of the teachers back in pastel hell actually made him growl, but he stopped, infuriated and rolling his eyes. "We're in this _together_!" It was he who dragged me into this, after all. Furthermore, it was he who had no specific idea of where to go and was therefore lost without me. "And despite the fact that you are" since you had your 'special destiny' confirmed "a self-righteous and arrogant little _prick_ –"

Again I found myself at a loss as to how to finish the sentence. My emotional wards had a crack, it seemed; Caught in my rant, I would have almost blubbered out the real reason I still stuck with him, which had little to do with wanting to rescue the Gaga-kids from being brainwashed. Stopping myself just in time, I finished: "I'm _staying_!"

Even to my ears it sounded lame. The fire was gone, and the crack in my voice was back. I felt a pressure building in my chest, rising up my throat, and fought to keep it down. Before, I wanted to stay calm and collected so I would not worry Gaz; now I tried to keep my cool so he would not have the satisfaction to see me break because of him when no one else ever managed to make me.

Again Gazza was too preoccupied with hurt pride and anger to notice my almost-slip. "Well, suit yourself!" he spat, and the contempt his words carried gave the wall another crack. The pressure grew.

"Don't worry! I will!"

I always had.

Gazza only turned away, with an almost bored "yeah!" and thereby managed what hours of struggle hadn't accomplished.

My wards were back, stronger than ever, and though I could not hate him, the snarky, strong, caustic Me was back as if she never left. Facing south, I snorted a scornful "Tch!" back at him, not even bothering to turn when he, in a low, wanna-be threatening voice asked: "What?"

I only mocked him, repeating the word as well as the warning "Hey!" that followed as he pointed at me and strode towards me. (Well, at least he was walking in the right direction for once!) As he beat away the hand I had used to point back at him in mocking, I only used the other, which made him all the more furious. Gazza kept hitting, I kept pointing, he lost his wits, I smirked, and as his anger exploded, so did his music, but for once it left me unimpressed. It seemed that the longer I was around Gazza, the less overwhelming his musical aura became – it was still there, nudging, but it no longer held such a - _thrall_. I simply crossed my arms and watched him coldly.

"Here we stand, or here we fall! History won't care at all!" On the contrary, I believed it would. Because if we decided to part here, the world would wait till doomsday for its rescue.

"Wake the dead!" The phrase was screamed into my face, cutting my thoughts and riling me up, "Fight the fight!" He wanted a fight, huh? Seeing that he had at last gotten a reaction out of me, Gaz smirked, continuing with mock-pity: "Lady Mercy won't be home tonight!" Hah! He thought I needed _mercy_? There was no way I would take _that_ lying down! I joined in as he continued, this time clear on every note, every word I uttered. They came from _me_.

"Well, you don't waste no time at all!" Going from befriending over bedding to hating me in – what – roughly twenty-four hours? Impressive. Though I wondered why he accused me of the same thing when it was him who initiated every step of it.

"Can't hear the bells, but you answer the call", he sneered, waving a dismissing hand at me while walking off (Into the wrong direction. Again). Hello?

"It comes to _you_ as to us _all_", I reminded him. After all, he was not the only misfit in the Gaga-world, now was he? Macca, Meat, me – we _all_ had followed the call! Actively rebelling, out of our own free will, while he was somehow forced into it by his dreams and probably had waited for something to happen. Simply waiting – how to phrase it – right, "You're just waiting for the hammer to fall!"

The accusation made him stop and stare as if I was something he had found under the sole of his boots – and that now had the audacity to complain because he stepped on it(Well, the fact that he had run into some kind of fence wall probably helped as well). "Hey!" I protested, not liking the look, (but also in a kind of triumph over him running into a wall – it was too bloody funny), but he just mocked it with a high-pitched, overly girlish sounding "Hey!" of his own, turning his back to the wall an walking by me into the opposite direction (East. Geez, he never learned). When I shot his trademark "Yeah!" at him, though, he got angry and turned back to me, repeating it as if to show me how it was done. I couldn't give a rat's arse about his opinion, but I was dead-set on giving him mine. After all, if we were to fight, I would at least not take what he threw at me on the chin and wear it. I was well capable of giving as good as I got. Pointing an accusing finger, I stormed toward him (the slightly nervous look on his face was a sight for sore eyes – or angry ones, as it was). "Every night, and every day a little piece of you is falling away!" With the bitter, somewhat apprehensive look in his eyes this – _man_ seemed to have nothing at all in common with the over-eager, hopeful, vaguely confused, but loveable Gazza I had met at the hospital. And that made me angry. As well as the fact that he ignored the fact that he needed my help. It was my turn to sneer. "But lift your face the western way, _babe_!" His favourite direction to get lost in. Besides, if I was a bloody _chick_... the surprised, affronted face widened my grin while a dark satisfaction welled up inside me. "Build your muscles as you body decays!" This time it was me who turned to walk away. Let him wander the world until he dropped dead for all I care. If he was too stupid to see that that was what he would end up doing if he didn't follow me, who was I to remind the mighty _Dreamer_ that he needed to eat and drink like _normal_ people? Feeling him approach, I stopped to remind him: "Toe your line and play their game! Let the anaesthetic cover it all! Until one day they call your name!" because until he was forced to break free all he ever did was sing about it. Rather nicely, true, but he still didn't cross the lines while being fully aware of the consequences – more by accident, from what I gathered. At least _I_ made mischief of my own volition, knowing what would happen if I was caught (and therefore being clever enough to not let that happen). At least he seemed to realize that – since even though the words he sang then were the same I used before, safe for the disdainful tone. "You know it's time for the hammer to fall", he sang, and coupled with the angry "Hey!" he shouted directly in my face it had a warning quality. Like he was barely keeping himself from using force to put me in my place.

Or what he thought to be 'my place', for that matter.

Actually, it was rather sad – if I was a person to be scared off (or into obedience) by violence, I would have never made it to the Heartbreak Hotel. I would have been swept over by a wave of pastel-coloured, squeaky-voiced plastic clones, never to be heard from again (I briefly wondered where he would have been then? Probably still in the hospital, too scared to get out alone. Or, if he had actually dared to escape, wandering the streets until he keeled over for thirst or exhaustion or both. Or, if he managed to actually reach the Heartbreak, by now he would be either dead or captured like the rest of the Bohemians were. And then all hope would have been lost). Still, I was more furious than frightened. How _dare_ he treat me like that! I walked after him, mocking behind his back his way to walk, to complain – and smiled so sickly a sweet smile at him when he turned to see why I was keeping quiet that I wondered why my teeth were not glued together when I picked the mocking back up as he turned, Now walking away south again. Not even noticing, he growled angrily, probably knowing full well that a smile like that meant anything _but_ obedience coming from me, and repeated the phrase from before, still in a warning tone, but now a rather half-hearted one, as if he had finally realized that it was pointless to try anyway.

Somehow, that irked me. For some reason, I _wanted_ the fight – it was better than silence, in any way, plus the added bonus of adrenaline running through my blood, letting me forget my tired legs, my aching feet, my strained breath. Also, fighting made it easier to be with him, made it easier to drown out the silent, treacherous voice that told me to forget my pride, to kiss and make up.

Above all, that would have been like admitting I was wrong, as well as begging someone who hurt me to take me back. If anyone, it was _him_ who was going to do the begging!

No, right now I wanted a fight. Twirling around so fast that I made Gaz stumble backwards in surprise (he fell over a stone sticking out of the ground, which made part of me cheer in malicious joy as he landed flat on his arse) as I sang my accusations at the top of my lungs: That he didn't care who anybody was, as long as they thought hi_hiisfh__his_ way (he, still sitting on the ground, acting as if he had _intended_ to end up there – and fooling no-one – commented on that with a _very_ ironic sounding "Oh, no!". One which I had anticipated and was therefore able to mock at the same time Gazza uttered it, making him shoot me a look dirty enough to rival even _mine_). Realizing that I hit a nerve he wasn't quite willing to admit he had at all, I upped it with mocking him for his inability to properly plan things (using a metaphor that had him I a bit of a fix – judging from the expression on his face he was unable to draw the connection between a locked door against the rain when the window was wide open and his lack of foresight. His "Oh, no!" proved it – it made no sense whatsoever at that point, but seeing that it was a tried response, he used it anyway. And I promptly mocked it anyway.) I topped it all off with a smirk and a smug "_Baby_, now your struggle's all in _vain_!" and let myself sink down to the ground. After all, it was _me_ who had had the most wear and tear on the legs – so why should _he_ be the only one having a rest?

After a while, Gazza scooted closer, clearly reigning in his irritation. "Let's go on", he said, but where his body succeeded, his voice failed and betrayed his annoyance. It bothered me. "Can't a girl _rest_ for a minute?" I snapped. "We have to move _now_ while we still have some light and can use the sun to determine where to go!" As he was pointing north this time, the only response he got was a snort and a mumble about how he would not even be able to determine where to go if the sun was writing it in fiery letters across the sky. Thankfully, he didn't understand a word. However, he did take it as an affront that I had turned away while he was talking. Frowning he poked me in the shoulder, starting to repeat his words. I poked him back, a little harder in my annoyance than I had intended to, hissing that I had heard him. From there it developed into a full-fledged poke-war, until I realized how ridiculous it all was. Here I was, the girl who prided herself to be more reasonable than most of even the grown-up population of Planet Mall, fighting petty little squabbles. Through _poking_. Exasperated, I shoved off Gazza's prodding fingers and jumped to my feet, feeling him do the same behind me. "What the hell we fighting for?" I burst out into song once more – and for a moment, just a wee fraction of a second, did I dare hope as Gazza sang the same line with me. Realizing that I shouldn't have right away, when he reassured me (in a very disdainful, arrogant tone) that surrendering wouldn't hurt at all while walking over. I didn't even look at him, only held out a hand in his direction to stop his approach, singing that he "just got time to say your prayers!" It aggravated him, or so it seemed; he sang with me, sounding threatening again, once more topping it off with the hammer-phrase, which I partly repeated after him. After going through that (and a few aggressive vocalizations of the Hey/Ho/Yeah variety) I felt the music ebb away, and with it some of the irritation – though not all. Calmer now, I turned away to continue south, when I heard Gazza utter, in a mixture between scream and song: "Well, give it to me one more time!"

Drawing a sharp breath, I twirled back to him, stopping dead in my tracks. He couldn't think – Like I would... "In your _dreams_", I spat out, sending a scornful "_Mate_!" after it, then rushing away in all the dignity I could find in myself.

It took him a while to catch up to me, but not nearly enough to ease the rekindled flames of my fury. His repeated assurances that he hadn't meant it _that_ way also did nothing to extinguish them; especially since he chose to support them by saying that he wouldn't even think about doing such with me!

Little hypocritical bastard. Yapping on and on without noticing that I was fuming more and more the longer he spoke.

For a while, we went on like that – me storming in sullen silence, him following in self-righteous indignation, until finally I had enough and bit back.

The discussion carried us through the rest of the late afternoon, at some point switching to the old discussion of what he thought of women and their place in general and mine in particular; dipping into a side of who had the bigger head, some general views about usefulness and a well-rounded part of simple insults. It was a frenzy. Although a small part of me still scanned the sky and the landscape for signs of trouble and sometimes allowed my mouth to retort on its own when I spotted something suspicious (practice, after all _did_ make perfect. Sarcasm was hardly something I needed to think about. A loss for words was something that happened to other people; a loss for insults was something I could not even fathom), the larger part hissed louder the more my aggravation grew, drowning out the part that was happy to hear Gazza talking again, even if he was crossing me with every word. It was the same part that told me that, although I liked the puppy-Gazza better, I was being quite proud of how well he had learned to use nastiness.

Nothing lasts forever, and even the longest day changed to dusk at some point. That pint was reached just as we reached the glittering surface of the Seven Seas of Rhye. It was, despite all my efforts at staying angry, a majestic view how it shimmered in the last light of the setting sun, one that stunned both me and Gazza into silence mid-sentence. There was something in the air – a hum, not unlike the one that had underlined the notes from Lulu's string box, a feeling that was both familiar and strange at the same time. My fingers felt empty all of a sudden, itching with a longing I couldn't quite understand because I didn't know what I was longing _for_.

Next to me, Gazza mumbled "Wow!" under his breath and startled me out of my ponderings as a smug satisfaction crept up. "South after all, huh? I said, pointing to where the sun was disappearing at our right hand. I regretted it almost as fast as the words left my mouth; Gazza's soft expression, the expression of the boy I had met and travelled with, vanished, hardened to the harsh mask of the one I got to know today. "Well, O wise one", he spat darkly, "Now you only need tell us where the Bohemians are!" For a moment I wanted to protest, ask why _I_ had to do all the work when it was _his_ bloody destiny when something caught my eye. "Let's try it about there, shall we?" I asked in a sickly sweet voice, accompanied by a grin that was trying to be innocent and failed abysmally. With a huff Gazza started in the direction I had pointed to – a glimmer in the now almost dark, next to the water.

As we drew nearer, it turned out to be the light in the windows of a somewhat run-down big shed or something; it was covered in faded graffiti, the wood looking almost polished silver from age and sea-wind.

"See?" I tried to break the sullen silence with what I hoped was a level voice devoid of negative emotions (well, as devoid of negative emotions as I managed to get, anyway. After all, I was still _me_). "It was pretty useful to have me around, after all. Had you left me back at the Van, you might have spent days searching for the Seven Seas or this hut."

Gazza exploded. "God damn it, Scaramouche, I might have, but at least you would have been out of danger!"

"Danger!" I scoffed. Hadn't we been over this, again and again and again? "If I was the sort to play Damsel in distress, I would never have made it to here! That's the part for the bloody Gaga's to play! Are you trying to tell me you want me to be – _that_? And by the by, _you_ are in far more danger than I ever was! I'm well and truly able to take care of myself! I always have! Why should I need you to look after me all of a sudden?"

"I'm not looking after you! I'm trying to look _out_ for you, which is a different thing altogether!"

And with that we were back to the old tune. Fighting, sometimes screaming, we walked down to the hut, stormed inside – and stopped dead.

There they were. I saw Cliff hanging over something roughly egg-shaped, seemingly asleep; Aretha and Iron Maiden hanging in their seats across each other, staring into nothing while Prince, a table over, did the same, only that he stared into a bottle of some sort. AC was in the seat next to him, snoring softly with her head hanging over the chair back, whereas DC had her head pillowed on her arms three tables away. There were others, people I had never seen before, but judging from their clothes they were rebels as well. Gazza expressed his joy in the over-zealous way he had, I asked how they escaped, too excited to notice anything but the relief.

But then the sight I had before me sunk in and hit home full force, draining joy and relief away until all that was left was utter dread.

We had found the Bohemians.

And there was something really, really wrong.

* * *

_Sorry for the delay, guys. I had some problems with this part - first the words wouldn't come, and then my Computer would crash all the time, deleting everything... Plus the starting at a musical School and the connected moving, which left me without internet - still leaves me without Internet, I'm home right now - but here it is._

_Enjoy. _

_And don't you worry, I'll pull this through to the end. It's too much fun to stop._


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